Daughter of Darkness
by Voldyfanatic
Summary: Voldemort has sent his daughter to Hogwarts as a spy. At first all goes well, but the longer she stays there, the more she finds herself trapped, caught up in a whirlwind of emotions, values, and treachery that are turning her away from all she stands for
1. Chapter 1: His Daughter

**Disclaimer: All characters, with the exception of Leia Riddle and a few others who will be added later, belong to J.K. Rowling. The main setting (Hogwarts/Hogsmeade) is also hers.**

**Daughter of Darkness**

**Chapter 1: His Daughter**

"Leia! Leia Riddle! Get down here now! You're going to be late…"

A voice calls to me from the hallway. I sit up in my bed and throw back the sheets. I rub my eyes and look around my room like I do every morning. The main color theme here is green. The trim is green; the bedclothes are green; the curtains are green; the carpet is green. This green is a deep forest green (my favorite shade). (Can you guess my favorite color yet?) The furniture and walls are the exception, being a very pretty cream color.

My room looks like it always has (ever since we moved here): a large desk against the wall opposite my queen bed, papers strewn all over it; my dresser and full length mirror next to the door of my walk-in closet; a drawing table set next to one of two windows in my room; the door to my private bathroom ajar.

I quickly scramble out of bed, rubbing my eyes. I run my fingers through my hair (a nervous habit I have yet to break), trying to remember where I have to go today. I look at the clock: nine forty-five AM. I suddenly remember that I am leaving today for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and the train leaves at eleven! I wouldn't be so panicked, except that I take forever to get ready sometimes.

I don't really want to go (I am and was perfectly happy being tutored by my father and mother in the ways of magic), but my father is insisting. He needs a spy at the school to keep watch on the headmaster (Albus Dumbledore) and on Harry Potter (my father's worst enemy next to Dumbledore). I have, of course, agreed. He is family, after all, and I'm proud to be his daughter.

I run to the bathroom and snatch up my brush from the counter. I run it through my hair as I study my reflection in the mirror. I am five feet and six inches tall. My hair is a golden-brown and so straight and fine that it is very hard to get it to even wave, much less curl. It is also very thick. My eyes are a brilliant green with barely a hint of grey scattered throughout them (my father's eyes). I have a good figure, too and my skin is lightly tanned from always being in the sun.

I smile at my reflection, happy with what I see. I definitely look more like my mother, but the Riddle (my father's side of the family) traits can still be seen: the nose, the long and slender fingers, the eyes as I've mentioned. I hurry to the closet and step inside, deciding what to wear. I put on my favorite blue jeans and pick out a belt. I rummage through the many tops I have and decide on a black, tight-fitting T-shirt that has "Chaser" written on it in red with a quaffle below it. (Yep, I play Quidditch. But I'll get back to that later.) I slip on a pair of sandals and head back to the bathroom. I stare at my reflection and pick up my brush again, wondering how I should do my hair. After about five minutes of messing with it, I finally choose to let it flow around my shoulders, allowing it to catch the light so that it shines.

I move to my desk and gather up the papers and quills and books and such that are scattered everywhere (even on the floor). I toss these into my trunk, which I've placed at the foot of my bed. I pick up my journals (I have several – some of which are completely filled) gently sliding them into the black satchel my mother gave me to help carry my books during the school day.

My uniform and dress robes are already packed along with all of the supplies I was told I will need. I have also thrown in some extra clothes for the weekends (or in case I need them for any other reason - like pajamas and a sweatshirt and stuff like that for sleeping and cold weather, etc). From the bathroom, I take my make-up (which I don't normally wear), my shampoo, my brush, my toothbrush, my perfumes, etc.

By ten thirty, I'm packed and in the kitchen eating breakfast - buttered toast and orange juice. My mother walks in as I finish off the last drop of juice and looks me over, as if trying to guess at what I am thinking.

"Well?" she asks impatiently. "Are you ready to go?"

I nod and stand up, putting my dishes in the sink and hanging my satchel from my left shoulder. I take my wand from the table and mutter, "Locomoter trunk." It rises into the air and I direct it in front of the hearth. My mother holds an old flowerpot out to me. I quickly scoop some of the fine powder that rests within it into my hand and step into the empty fireplace. I look at my mom, wondering where I'm supposed to be going. She notices the look of confusion that has plastered itself to my face.

"Go to Platform 9 ¾. I'll follow with your trunk," she says.

I nod again, thinking about why my father couldn't just ask someone else to spy. As much as he keeps telling me how much like him I am, I still have trouble believing it. I mean, I have developed a liking to the dark arts, but my personality isn't exactly what gives my father his reputation. I'm too nice to ever take over for him and succeed in ruling if he gets defeated (which I doubt will happen). I'd much rather be a Death Eater than the evil overlord (though the two are very similar).

And if you haven't already guessed it, I am the daughter of _the_ Lord Voldemort. Leia Riddle is my name, a descendant of the famous Salazar Slytherin, one of the four founders of Hogwarts. My mother raised me in my parents' house. My father is currently hiding who-knows-where (even I'm not allowed to know), but I have still visited him once a week for the past seven or eight years (since I was ten) by Floo Powder to study the dark arts.

Now, as I stand amongst the soot, my clothes staying as clean as ever because of a charm I have placed on them, I throw down the Floo Powder that I took from the flowerpot, saying loud and clear, "Platform 9 ¾!" I feel the all too familiar sensation of being spun like a top, flying down an endless tunnel, passing by the entrances to many places I would never visit.

In no time at all, I land on solid ground and tumble out onto a crowded platform. My mother soon appears at my side with my trunk. She then pulls me and all of my luggage off into a corner, placing a hand on my shoulder and looking me straight in the eyes.

"Leia," she begins in a low whisper. I have to lean in very close just to hear her. "You already know what you're here for, but there are some things I'd like to reiterate. First, remember that your last name is no longer…what it is. It is Gerwin, ok? The same as your Quidditch name. Second, you are not to reveal your identity to anyone, no matter what. Not even to Malfoy's boy. His father may be trusted to keep a secret (though I would not trust him with the secret of your identity for anything), but I doubt his son is. So just know that no one at the school, nor any of the De-" She catches herself and quickly changes Death Eaters to…"Your father's employees, know who you are. Don't expect anything (good or bad) from anyone, whether they are Malfoy or Potter. They'll treat you based on what they think of you, knowing nothing of your parentage. I just want to warn you of that, though I think you have probably figured that out by this point. I just don't want you to be too surprised if you find Potter liking you and Slytherins unwilling to bow down to you. That is how your father would want it, if only because it will make your job easier." As if I want them to! "So just remember your name and tell no one anything of your ancestry or whom you're dealing with. Understand?"

"Yes, Mum," I reply, reaching for my trunk. Merlin, she doesn't know me as well as she thinks if she thinks I like all of that bowing.

"Oh, and by the way-" I glance up at the sound of my mother's voice. She picks up a large basket and unhooks the latch on the lid. "Your father asked me to give you this. He is yours to name."

I look in awe upon the magnificent snake that has risen from the basket. "So…does this mean I finally get a familiar?" I ask as I take the snake and basket from my mother and close the latch.

"Yes you do. Now run along and hurry onto the train. It will be leaving shortly."

"Yes, Mum." I give her a hug and bid her goodbye. Then, with my satchel over my shoulder, my new familiar in one hand, my trunk in the other, I walk towards the train and stand behind some younger students, trying my hardest not to shove them out of the way (they are having difficulty, it seems, in getting their trunks up and into the train). After a few minutes of waiting, I am able to clamber up behind them.


	2. Chapter 2: Friend Or Foe?

**Chapter 2: Friend Or Foe?**

I drag my luggage towards the back in the hopes of finding an empty compartment, but I am a little too late for such luck. There are only two available seats back here: one in each of the last two compartments. I hear the whistle sound and the floor beneath me gives a lurch, causing me to stumble slightly. But I quickly catch my balance and glance into each compartment. One has three boys in it: two are bigger and not too friendly looking, while the other is tall and skinny with blond hair and…the face of a Malfoy.

It doesn't take me long to choose the other cart. If I'm going to be spying, it is best not to start too many conversations with the sons of Death Eaters. They know about Voldemort having a daughter (not too many well kept secrets in this war), but they've never seen me and it's best (I realize) if I don't introduce myself right away. I'll let them get a different impression of me first; then, hopefully, I'll seem more convincing in my act. I slide open the door of the other compartment and come face to face with a tall, red-haired boy (well, maybe I wasn't really face to face, seeing as he is three inches taller than me, at least). I look up at him.

"Sorry about that," I say, forcing a small smile/smirk. I'm not really sure what it comes out as, but I was trying for the smirk, I think.

"Can I help you?" he asks as I laugh at the strange look on his face (he looks confused, bewildered, and amused all at the same time- if that's even possible).

"Maybe," I manage to say between giggles. He just looks at me confused, only making me laugh more every time I look at him. Before I continue, I regain my composer and say more seriously, "I was wondering if I could sit here. Every other compartment is full."

He steps aside to let me pass and says, "Sure."

I drag my stuff in and hull it up into the luggage rack, careful to secure my familiar's basket. Taking the empty seat next to the window, I look around at the other two who are there. Sitting across from me is a girl with bushy brown hair. She looks like she's my age. A book is lying face down in her lap: _The Standard Book of Spells Grade Seven_. _Yep_, I think to myself_, she's my age_. I look to my left and see a boy. He has black hair that is quite untidy, green eyes, and glasses. I smile at him. _He's not too bad looking_, I think as he smiles uncertainly back. I stick my hand out to him, introducing myself, as a good little spy should, in a friendly manner that isn't too forceful.

"I'm Leia, by the way. Leia Gerwin."

His smile widens a little as he shakes my hand. "I'm Harry," he responds. "Harry Potter."

My jaw drops open. I can feel the shock and loathing dance across my face. But I look away fast, and wipe my face of all expression. I mumble almost inaudibly about my awful luck and don't wait for his reaction before reaching up to my satchel to retrieve one of my journals. I open it and pull out a quill (one that automatically provides its own never ending supply of ink- I invented it myself).

I can feel Potter's eyes on me, as well as the girl's, but I ignore them. Just my luck that I would run into _him_ first. I think about it while I flip to one of the novels I have been writing (an odd hobby for a member of the wizarding community, seeing as we as a rule avoid such Muggle "nonsense", but I enjoy the art of story-telling). I can use this occasion to my advantage, I know, but still…it's the principle behind it. After all, I am the dark lord's daughter. I find it very hard to make friends (even if it's all just an act) with the boy who is destined to possibly kill my father. Pretend friendships were never my strong point. I usually end up as true friends or true enemies with everyone I meet, never pretend friend or pretend enemy. I read through my untidy scrawl and quickly make changes where they're needed. I then start to write a new chapter.

_Two days ago my life was normal._

_Two days ago I had my friends._

_But two days later now it is,_

_And I am alone._

_Sitting on a plane,_

_As I glance out the window,_

_I catch one last look at home._

_Memories of my family flash before my eyes._

_I love them more than anything._

_But how can I be sure they feel the same?_

_They are the ones sending me_

_To the other end of the universe._

_I quickly gulp some water_

_And brush these thoughts from my head._

_And I wipe away these foolish tears._

_Of course they love me._

_They trust me, too._

_But now I am so alone._

_I am lost as I watch the waves roll below._

_My life has taken more than one turn_

_These last two days._

_I feel as though I am walking on ceilings._

_Nothing is the same._

_Two days past I had slept cozy in my bed._

_Two days later I sleep in a strange seat._

_A hard, cold, uncomfortable seat it is._

_If only I had known I had just two days left._

_If only I could go back._

_But I cant._

_Those ceilings just won't return to floors._

_I only had two days._

_Just two, just two..._

I sit and stare at what I have written. That wasn't part of my story at all! I stare at it before deciding it must be my mind's weird way of expressing itself…with confusing poetry that isn't about me but is still somehow a reflection of me.

I stop when I hear the compartment door slide open. I glance up and first look to see if the red head is back. He is, so I look towards the open door and see none other than the Malfoy boy. I stare expressionless at him.

"Who have we here?" he asks with a smirk, looking me in the eyes before I notice his eyes wander. He looks me up and down before continuing. "Are you new?" he asks.

I say calmly, never taking my eyes off him, "New to the school, yes."

"And what might your name be?" He leans against the doorframe and folds his arms across his chest.

"It's Leia, Leia Gerwin. And yours?"

"Draco Malfoy."

I realize I was right before, but I'm not surprised. He continues to stand there looking at me. I see Potter glare. He opens his mouth to speak.

"Get out of here, Malfoy."

"Not until I ask her something." He points in my direction, staring at my body once more.

"Then ask it already," I say, annoyed that he is checking me out. _If only he knew who I am_, I think as I smirk to myself.

He frowns slightly, but it doesn't take long before that smirk is back. "Come sit with me in the compartment across the way. There's room for one more."

I start to doodle in my journal as I answer him. "First off, that isn't what I call a question. Second, why do you think I would _want_ to sit with you?" I see Harry smile at me out of the corner of my eye.

"Well, why would any girl want to sit with me? I'm great looking _and_ a pureblood!" He smirks again, throwing his arms up in mock exasperation.

"You're so full of it, Malfoy," I say calmly, rolling my eyes at him. "Merlin, I knew you looked like your father, but it seems you also have his personality- that of a rock." He glares at me and makes to respond, but I beat him to it. "Oh, and you should really look in the mirror sometime. You are no prince charming. In fact, you resemble more the back end of a horse."

He looks quite angry and opens his mouth once more to protest. "I don't -"

"Let me put it this way, Malfoy," I say, interrupting him. "If my dog had your face, I'd shave its butt and teach it to walk backwards." I stand up and pull my robes down from the luggage rack. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to change." I push past him and shut the door as he follows me out.

"How dare you…" he hisses dangerously. I turn and raise my eyebrows at him. "If you weren't a girl, I'd-"

"You'd what? Hit me? Go ahead. Try it, just try it."

He looks suddenly nervous, probably wondering how safe it is to take me up on my offer. He seems to choose to leave this where it stands for another day because he turns sharply on his heel and slams the door shut to his compartment. I laugh quietly to myself and walk to the bathroom to change. I certainly am starting to build a nice reputation for myself: for Gryffindors and against Slytherins. Dumbledore should like that. But still…Harry Potter in my compartment! I mean I'm not even to the school and I've already run into him and Malfoy's boy. What luck! (Good or bad, I couldn't say…)


	3. Chapter 3: What's In A Name?

**Chapter 3: What's In A Name?**

Harry's Pov:

I watch as she practically struts from the room. I let slip a small smile, kind of an idiotic one at that. She just did what Snape has been accusing me of for years: strutting around like I own the place. Except I think hers was more of a "piss off, Malfoy" kind of strut. I apparently look pretty ridiculous because Hermione subtly points it out to me.

"You look ridiculous with that stupid smile on your face."

Ok…not so subtle. I quickly wipe the silly grin off my face and try to explain myself.

"Well, it's just that-"

"Never mind, Harry. You don't have to say anything. It's clear you like her and I think you're an idiot for it."

Um, she interrupted me. And what is this she said about me being an idiot?

"Why am I an idiot for liking someone? What if I want to be friends with her? What's wrong with that?"

Hermione responds with an incredulous look and I can see a light turn on in her head, switching her into Miss-Know-It-All mode. I hate it when she gets like this. I take a deep breath and prepare myself for the weekly lecture.

"Harry, didn't you see the way she looked at you when she found out who you were?"

"Well, it was a little odd, I admit. Most people just stand there shaking my hand off and babbling on and on about how great a pleasure it is. I have to say, her reaction was definitely a break from the monotony. I can't say I mind." I give a small smile, but Hermione isn't giving up yet.

"And were you listening when she was talking to Malfoy?" I don't think she even heard me.

"Hermione, I wouldn't exactly call that talking." She just glares at me, probably because I interrupted her again. I just don't see what could be so bad about this new girl. I mean, can't Hermione just get to know her first before she makes any judgments? We barely know anything about her and already she has an enemy- my best friend. And having Hermione as your enemy is never good. She continues lecturing me. She now seems really annoyed and is acting like I'm an ignorant child who just can't grasp how to read, which to Hermione would be annoying.

"She said she knew that he looked like his father and that he also had his personality. How could she know these things if she didn't already know Malfoy Sr., the _Death Eater_? How do you think-"

Just now, Ron, looking tired and bothered (probably because he hasn't been able to finish reading his _World Quidditch News_ magazine), interrupts her. "Can't you just drop it, Hermione? You're really annoying when you're like this. Leave Harry alone. You don't even know the girl yet and already you're accusing her of being in league with You-know-who!"

Hermione leaps to her feet, obviously enraged by Ron's words. "Ronald! I did no such thing!" She places her hands on her hips and glares at Ron. He tries to hide behind his magazine, but nothing can escape the wrath of Hermione Granger, Ticking Time Bomb. "And I'm annoying, am I? Well, then why do you bother hanging out with me? Why don't I just leave and then you won't have to deal with me anymore?!" She looks on the verge of tears as she storms out of the compartment, slamming the door in my face as I stand to try and calm her down.

"You've done it again, Ron. And you really pissed her off this time."

Ron just grunts and goes back to his magazine. "It's not my fault she's so much of a pushy know-it-all." I just shake my head and sit back down, checking my watch. We're almost to Hogwarts. Thank goodness. I'm starving. Oh, Leia's back. Wow. She looks good in that uniform, and that's rare with what they make us wear. Hmm, maybe those high heels help. They certainly define her legs. I wonder why other girls don't wear high heels? Oh well, who cares, right? Oh, looks like she's noticed Hermione's absence. I better get ready to explain.

Leia's Pov:

I head back to the compartment, wearing my new uniform: gray skirt, white blouse, black tie (I don't have a house yet, so the tie doesn't have any house colors decorating it), knee-highs, high heels (I prefer them to flats), and of course, the black robes that will soon have the badge of my house. Man, I don't even want to think about the house issue yet.

I open the door to our compartment and step inside, glancing for a brief second at Potter. I sigh inside. I know I'll have to confront him eventually, but, well, I've explained my problems with this before so I won't carry on. I'll have to make friends with him before the week is up. There is no doubt in my mind about that. Father would want it that way if he were here now. But he's off devising another plan to kill Potter and Dumbledore, and to take over. Take over what, I have no idea. I really don't know what he's after.

I look around as I sit down. The red head is still reading his magazine, but I notice that the girl is gone. I turn to Potter because the red head is too into his magazine. "Where'd your friend run off to?"

He looks me in the eyes and it seems he is weighing things in his mind, like he's deciding what he should and shouldn't tell me. Finally, he speaks up. "Well, Hermione (that's our friend who was here) decided to lecture me again. But Ron," he motions to the red head, "told her to shut up because she was getting carried away and-"

"She was bloody annoying," Ron puts in, interrupting Potter, or Harry as I guess I should start calling him if I'm ever going to be his friend.

"Yeah, well, that," Harry started again, "and so she got mad and left in a huff. I don't think we'll see her again till at least tomorrow, if not at dinner. Depends on how upset she is."

I nod. I know how it goes. My friends and I have had similar quarrels. (Here I must add that although I was taught the ways of magic by my parents and never went to a wizarding school, I am a good friend of the sons and daughters of my fellow teammates on England's Quidditch team, the Royal Renegades. I am the youngest member of the team.) It is also very clear to me that I will have to watch how seriously I take this Ron. He seems like the tactless type, who might mean what he says, but doesn't say it for any reason except that it was in his head in the first place.

I suddenly remember my new familiar and decide I should go ahead and name him. I pull his basket from under my seat and see a note attached to the top. It's from my father…

_Leia,_

_I hope this snake as your familiar satisfies you. He is Nagini's brother, both of a very rare species. Name him what you will. I know you speak Parseltongue so I thought it appropriate. Remember your duties._

_Father_

Well, that was thoughtful of him (a rare occurrence, I'm sorry to say). Nagini's brother, did he say? That's interesting. I didn't know she had a brother. (Just so you know: Nagini is my father's familiar.) I look around and see Harry staring at the basket. I motion to it. "It's my familiar. My father gave it to me." He nods and asks what it is. I merely lift off the lid and we both watch as a beautiful snake comes sliding out, a brilliant diamond pattern along his back. I gasp in awe at its magnificence. He is so amazing (I've always had an attraction to snakes) and I want to pick just the right name for him. I would like to just ask him what he wants to be called, but I can't speak Parseltongue with Harry and Ron here. No, that's too risky. I am pretty sure Harry knows about my father speaking Parseltongue. (Harry speaks Parseltongue himself, or so my father said.) But if I speak Parseltongue around anyone at all, it's sure to get around and Harry might figure my secret out. Whether or not he'll believe it is another matter.

I decide to ask Harry if he can ask my familiar about its name. I certainly can't do it. I watch as the snake slides around the compartment and curls itself onto the seat next to Ron where Hermione had been only five minutes ago. Ron stares over the top of his magazine, the Holyhead Harpies flying around a Quidditch field below his nose. His eyes are wide, apparently a little frightened. That reaction is understandable. At least he's not climbing up into the luggage rack from fear. That is what I would call overreacting.

"Harry, I hear you speak Parseltongue." I decide to start this way. I hope it will draw less attention to me. He shifts uncomfortably in his chair, but answers anyway.

"Yeah, yeah I do."

"Great!" I smile broadly and laugh as his expression is flooded with confusion.

"Most people find that to be a bad thing," he says, eyeing me a little suspiciously. "Why are you so excited?"

I just smile and explain. "Well, I want to name him-" I gesture towards the snake, "and I think it best if he chooses it. Since you speak Parseltongue, I just wanted to know if you could ask him for me." Hopefully my acting is convincing enough.

"Oh, sure." He seems a bit confused and apprehensive, but he turns to my familiar anyway and begins to speak in Parseltongue.

_Um, excuse me, but we were wondering what you want your name to be._

The snake raises its head and stares directly at me as he responds. He knows I understand.

_Salazar._

_Salazar?_ Harry asks with surprise.

_Isn't that what I said? Yes, Salazar._

_Ok._ Harry turns back to me. "Salazar."

"Ok, Salazar it is," I say, acting as though I had no clue what they had been saying. I know perfectly well why he chose that name: it connects him to our family and even snakes have pride. But Harry seems puzzled by my familiar's choice of name. Though he says nothing about it, I can see it etched in his face. Ron just goes back to reading. Does he ever think of anything else besides Quidditch?

I suddenly hear a call outside the compartment. It sounds like it's coming from a few doors down. "The trolley is coming through! Get your sweets and candies here!" Food sounds good just about now, and I've been craving some chocolate frogs for a while now. I pull out a couple galleons from my pocket. Soon the trolley is just outside our compartment and a little witch opens the door. "Anything off the trolley today, dears?" I stand up, as do Harry and Ron. Harry buys some chocolate frogs, a couple licorice wands, and a pumpkin pasty. Ron goes for the Drooble's Best Blowing Gum and the chocolate frogs. It is then my turn and I look everything over quickly, making up my mind to purchase chocolate frogs and a package of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. Harry and Ron look at me funny and ask if I'm sure I want to eat the beans. I just laugh and tell them I love Bertie Bott's. Ron just shakes his head and Harry smiles, muttering, "You're braver than I am." I eat one and it's chocolate flavored. Aren't I lucky?

I soon rest my head on the wall of the compartment and fall asleep. I fall into a quiet, blackened sleep, not dreaming anything (for once). I am glad to not have to wake up screaming from another nightmare. This is the first peaceful sleep I've had in a long time.

When next I wake, the compartment lamps are lit and the sky is black and lit by stars. "Is it that late already?" I ask of Harry, who is standing at the window, now dressed in his school robes. (Ron is now organizing his chocolate frog cards.)

"Yeah, you slept for several hours. We're almost there; come take a look." He motions for me to join him. I do so and look out into the night. There it is. Hogwarts, my new school, my new home for a year, and the new battleground. It is a magnificent castle, with many rooms, towers, windows, and (as my parents told me) many secret rooms and passages. The place is lit up brilliantly by candles and torches shining through each window. I sigh in awe, leaning against the windowsill. I am now starting to look forward to going here. I only wish that I could have come as myself, Leia Riddle, and under different circumstances. Of course, maybe it's best I come without my family's reputation trailing in my wake.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Harry says to me as we watch the school and the town of Hogsmeade grow ever closer.

"Yes, it certainly is," I say, amazed by the sight before me. I don't know what the castle looks like in daylight, but I sure as hell love it at night, when it is lit only by small torches and the dying embers of the evening's fires, like now. The darkness of the night has always taken my breath away. I am enchanted by its melody, by its song. Most people might say this has something to do with my past and how I was raised by the Dark Lord and his Death Eater wife, how I was taught the ways of the Dark Arts before I was eight. But I am almost foolproof positive that this is not the case, that there is just something about me that binds me to the darkness, to the night.


	4. Chapter 4: Blood Isn't Everything

**Chapter 4: Blood Isn't Everything, But Quidditch Is**

Harry's Pov:

The train soon comes to a stop in Hogsmeade, the local wizard village. Both Ron and I stand up quickly, eager to get to the Welcome Feast. I can tell Ron is starving; I know _I_ am. Leia, however, is slower to rise. She moves so gracefully. Even when gathering her things there is no clumsiness about her as she reaches in to the luggage rack for her familiar's basket. Salazar is still sitting in the seat next to Ron's. I turn to the door and open it to confront the crowded corridor. Ron is right behind me. I can hear his familiar, an owl named Pigwigeon, hooting loudly in my ear. Pig is a small, annoying thing, but I suppose he's grown on me in the last year. You get used to him.

I look out and see that the crowd has moved towards the front of the train. There is no one in the back where we are. This makes it easier to get out. Ron and I get into the corridor, followed closely by Leia. I notice that she is not carrying her familiar like Ron and I. (I have a snowy owl named Hedwig.) Salazar's basket is floating along behind her. I look but I do not see her wand anywhere. How is she doing that?

And Salazar…what an odd choice for a name. I have only ever seen that name once before – it is the name of one of the founders of Hogwarts: Salazar Slytherin – pureblood, Muggle hater, and ancestor of Voldemort. Why would Leia's familiar want to be named after him?

_Isn't it obvious?_ I hear Hermione's voice say in my head. Not to me. And anyway, how can a snake pick it's own name? I did not think to question it before. I was too stunned by the fact that there was someone in the world, other than Voldemort, who thought the ability to speak Parseltongue was a good thing. This girl, this Leia Gerwin, is strange indeed. But not strange in a bad way. She's mysterious and interesting. It's hard to tell what she is thinking. I wish Hermione would lay off and give her a chance to prove what she really is, who she is.

By now we've made it onto the platform. I hear Hagrid, the gamekeeper, calling for the first years. I can still remember what it was like to be a first year, in a new place, away from a familiar (if unpleasant) home, scared. I push through the crowd towards the carriages behind Ron who went on ahead while I was reminiscing. Ron finds an empty carriage and climbs in. I hand my stuff in to him and start to join him myself, but the sight of Leia stroking the mane of the thestral that pulls the carriage makes me pause. The thestrals are visible to all who have witnessed death. What could Leia have seen that would allow her to see these horse-like creatures? The thestral wraps one of its wings around her as a harsh autumn breeze blows by. I call to Leia and she follows me into the carriage, but not before whispering something in the creature's ear. As she climbs up behind me I can hear the thestral whiney and neigh as though it hates to see her go.

Leia sits beside me, starring out into the night. The bright moon reflects in her eyes. Are those tears casting so much light? I think about asking her why she can see thestrals but decide against it. It is none of my business. Besides, if she tells me about her experience, she will expect me to tell about mine. Even the memory of Cedric Digory's murder, just now fading from detail only slightly after two years, still makes my heart stop and my blood run cold.

"Bloody hell. Can't this thing move any faster? I'm starving!" The sound of Ron's voice breaks me out of my reverie. I hear Leia laugh. She nods.

"Same here," she says, smiling. Then, suddenly, her smile changes to a slight frown, as if she is puzzled or concentrating on something. "Would either of you know where new students who are not first years go to get sorted?"

"I would assume you meet with the first years and get sorted with them," I reply. "We can help you find Professor McGonagall when we reach the castle. She will know what you should do." Then I remember that she has not yet told us what year she will be in. "By the way," I ask, "what year will you be in?"

"Seventh," she says, the smile returning. "Dumbledore and I worked it all out a couple of weeks ago." Then she pauses. "Are both of you in the seventh year as well?" I nod in response. "Then perhaps…" she continues, "perhaps you can tell me something. Do you know how a person should go about getting on their house's Quidditch team?" My face lights up in surprise and excitement. She plays Quidditch, too?

"Pardon my asking, but are you any good?" I ask, practically holding my breath in anticipation. Gryffindor is in need of two new chasers. Of course she would have to get into Gryffindor house to play on the team, but I won't let that fact dampen my spirits yet.

Leia laughs. Her laughter sounds like wind whispering through the trees. "Well, I don't like to brag."

Ron is on the edge of his seat from anticipation. I think he loves Quidditch even more than me, if that's possible. "Go on, brag," he says.

I laugh. "Go ahead. Tell us about your Quidditch career. Tell us everything. We'd really like to know." I really hope she's what I've been hoping for in a chaser for Gryffindor. She looks kind of startled by our reaction, but seems to recover as she begins to speak.

"Ok then. I have been a chaser for England's Quidditch team, the Royal Renegades, for five years. Many in England regard me as one of the best chasers of the century. I was with the team when it won the World Cup in '93 and '96. I also hold the world record for most points scored in one game and in one season. I do not know what else to tell you." She pauses and looks at us questioningly.

"That's plenty," Ron says, breathless. "Wow…a celebrity. On our team. I knew I'd heard your name before. Those Slytherins will never stand a chance with Harry as seeker and Leia as chaser…" He trails off, lost in his own thoughts.

"Ron," I say, jerking him out of his fantasy, "she's not in Gryffindor yet. Who knows if she even will be?" He slumps down in his seat, disappointed.

Leia looks puzzled. "Would either of you care to explain what just happened here?"

"Oh, sorry," I say, apologizing for Ron's rudeness. "It's just that Gryffindor needs two new chasers and –"

"You have an opening?" She cuts me off, looking excited. "I love Quidditch! I wouldn't let you down."

"I don't think you would, but you have to get in Gryffindor house first before you can play on the team."

"Oh…right...I forgot..." She looks crestfallen. She returns to staring out the window. She sighs. "It's hopeless. I'll never get into Gryffindor."

I stare at her. "Why not?"

Without turning around, she mumbles, "My parents."

"I still don't understand." I really am confused.

"All of my ancestors, dating back to the founding of Hogwarts, were in Slytherin. My parents were Slytherins. I was raised to be a Slytherin. I have to admit though, I don't care for half of it."

I sit there, in my seat, staring wide-eyed at her. She hadn't seemed like the type.

_I hate to say it, but I told you so,_ I hear Hermione's voice say. I shake my head. I like her too much. She's too nice. She can't be a Slytherin. She just can't be…


	5. Chapter 5: A Feast For All Seasons

**Disclaimer: The Sorting Hat's song is not mine. I took it from the Order of the Phoenix. I was going to write my own but I had a little too much trouble. I just want to give credit to Rowling before I move on to the story:)**

**Chapter 5: A Feast For All Seasons**

Ron's Pov:

The carriage comes to a halt outside the castle doors. I barely notice, lost in my own thoughts. I hope Leia gets into Gryffindor. She would be great for the team. Who cares what her parents were? Blood _can't_ be everything, can it? She can convince the hat to put her in Gryffindor. Harry did. Of course, his family didn't have a history of Slytherins to hinder his effort.

"Ron, come on. We have to get inside." Harry's voice gets my attention. Leia is already climbing out and Harry is ready to follow her. I stand up and climb out after them. Harry tells me to go on ahead and save him a seat. He's going to help Leia find Professor McGonagall. That's fine with me. I'm too hungry to be of much use. I'd just complain the entire time. I walk up the stone steps and through the giant oak doors. The entrance hall is crowded with students. I spot Neville Longbottom up ahead and call out a friendly hello. He waves back and smiles in response. As I make my way, slowly but surely, to the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, my stomach growls loudly. I'm so hungry. Finally I am able to sit down. I save a seat for Harry and look around to see where Hermione is. I see her walk in to the Great Hall and wave her over. As annoying as she can be, I really like her. She comes over, though I can't say why. She sits down across from me. I see she has been crying. I feel awful now.

"Hermione…Hermione, I'm sorry."

She smiles and nods, accepting my apology. "Forget it."

I smile back. We both look up as Harry sits down. "Well," he begins, "McGonagall said that Leia will be sorted after the first years. But Leia didn't seem too thrilled with having to walk in with 40 eleven year-olds, so McGonagall told her to walk behind her and in front of the others so she wouldn't feel so strange."

"Well, I don't blame her," I say matter-of-factly. "Who _would _want to stand in front of the entire school with a bunch of midgets?"

"Oh, Ron, quit calling them midgets," Hermione scolds.

I respond with the ever popular and mature comeback. "But they _are_." Well, not so mature, but still popular. She just glares at me and shakes her head. Suddenly, the doors to the entrance hall swing open and in sweeps Professor McGonagall, followed closely by Leia and a herd of first years. McGonagall is carrying a stool and the Sorting Hat. As she reaches the steps in front of the head table, she sets the stool down and places the hat atop it. The hat then opens a slit in its brim and begins to sing.

_In times of old when I was new_

_And Hogwarts barely started_

_The Founders of our noble school_

_Thought never to be parted:_

_United by a common goal,_

_They had the selfsame yearning_

_To make the world's best magic school_

_And pass along their learning._

_"Together we will build and teach!"_

_The Four good friends decided_

_And never did they dream that they_

_Might someday be divided,_

_For were there such friends anywhere_

_As Slytherin and Gryffindor?_

_Unless it was the second pair_

_Of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw?_

_So how could it have gone so wrong?_

_How could such friendships fail?_

_Why, I was there and so can tell_

_The whole sad, sorry tale._

_Said Slytherin, "We'll teach just those_

_Whose ancestry is purest."_

_Said Ravenclaw, "We'll teach those whose_

_Intelligence is surest."_

_Said Gryffindor, "We'll teach all those_

_With brave deeds to their name,"_

_Said Hufflepuff, "I'll teach the lot,_

_And treat them just the same."_

_These differences caused little strife_

_When first they came to light,_

_For each of the four founders had_

_A House in which they might_

_Take only those they wanted, so,_

_For instance, Slytherin_

_Took only pure-blood wizards_

_Of great cunning, just like him,_

_And only those of sharpest mind_

_Were taught by Ravenclaw_

_While the bravest and the boldest_

_Went to daring Gryffindor,_

_Good Hufflepuff, she took the rest,_

_And taught them all she knew,_

_Thus the Houses and their founders_

_Retained friendships firm and true._

_So Hogwarts worked in harmony_

_For several happy years,_

_But the discord crept among us_

_Feeding on our faults and fears._

_The Houses that, like pillars four,_

_Had once held up our school,_

_Now turned upon each other and,_

_Divided, sought to rule._

_And for a while it seemed the school_

_Must meet an early end,_

_What with dueling and with fighting_

_And the clash of friend on friend_

_And at last there came a morning_

_When old Slytherin departed_

_And though the fighting then died out_

_He left us quite downhearted._

_And never since the founders four_

_Were whittled down to three_

_Have the Houses been united_

_As they once were meant to be._

_And now the Sorting Hat is here_

_And you all know the score:_

_I sort you into Houses_

_Because that is what I'm for,_

_But this year I'll go further,_

_Listen closely to my song:_

_Though condemned I am to split you_

_Still I worry that it's wrong,_

_Though I must fulfill my duty_

_And must quarter every year_

_Still I wonder whether sorting_

_May not bring the end I fear._

_Oh, know the perils, read the signs,_

_The warning history shows,_

_For our Hogwarts is in danger_

_From external, deadly foes_

_And we must unite inside her_

_Or we'll crumble from within_

_I have told you, I have warned you._

_Let the sorting now begin_

A few hands are heard clapping, but most sit in a chilled silence. The hat has been singing such songs for three years, but it still worries people as it reminds us of the war raging outside the castle walls. When the half-hearted applause has died down, McGonagall pulls out a long piece of parchment, containing a list of all the names of the first years standing in front of her.

"Adams, George." She calls out the first name. In response, a boy with black hair and a froglike face steps forward. He looks very nervous – understandable. I was nervous, too. Of course, I also thought we had to battle a cave troll to get sorted. My older twin brothers, Fred and George Weasley, told me a lot of fictitious stories like that and I was gullible enough to believe them.

George Adams climbs up onto the stool and lets McGonagall drop the Sorting Hat on his head. After a few seconds the hat yells out, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Burns, Robert." "RAVENCLAW!" "Collins, Jeremy." "GRYFFINDOR!"

Hurry up! I'm starving! Harry's getting anxious, too, but I think for different reasons. He keeps whispering about Leia, hoping she gets into Gryffindor. But Dumbledore, the Headmaster, once said that it's our choices that show who we really are. If she wants to be in Gryffindor, she'll be in Gryffindor. Of that much I am sure…well, almost completely positive anyway…

"Westhouse, Sarah." "SLYTHERIN!"

There is a pause as the sorting finally comes to a close. Leia looks calm and serene as though none of this makes her nervous. She has an air about her that I noticed on the train as well, like she has it all under control. McGonagall glances at Dumbledore who motions for her to wait. He stands up and all goes silent in the hall.

"Before we eat, I would like to introduce to you one of our new students. She is going to be entering the seventh year. Please welcome her as you would anyone else. Minerva, let her be sorted now." He sits back down and rests his chin on his folded hands, peering at Leia through his half-mooned spectacles, eyeing her with mild curiosity.

"Gerwin, Leia." An excited murmur sweeps through the Great Hall. Apparently, many are aware of Leia's position as chaser for England's national Quidditch team. I watch with anticipation as the sorting hat slips onto her head. She sits on the stool, legs crossed, hands perched on her knees, back straight, face confident. She's the picture of calm. There is no sign of fear, no nervous glance around the room that is seen so often on many first years' faces. It feels like forever, the wait I mean. I turn to Harry and he looks worried.

"It's been ten minutes and nothing…" he whispers.

My eyes widen. Ten minutes?! That's twice as long as it took Harry. "Bloody hell…" Even Dumbledore is starting to look puzzled and nervous. Another five minutes goes by and finally –

"GRYFFINDOR!" Harry is the first to stand up, cheering and clapping. I follow suit.

"We have a chaser! A chaser! You hear that, everyone? A new chaser!" I yell for the entire table to hear and everyone else gets even more excited. Leia sweeps gracefully over to the Gryffindor table. There is a relieved, but somewhat nervous smile on her face. She sits down next to Hermione.

"Congratulations!" Harry shakes her hand. "This just proves that blood doesn't really matter." He smiles broadly, but I can see a small flicker of something, some emotion apart from joy, flash across her face. But she recovers too soon for Harry or anyone else to take any notice.

"Yeah," I say in a slightly less excited tone, "well done." After that look she had on her face, it is hard to be so overjoyed for her when I cannot be sure she feels it herself. I thought she wanted to be in Gryffindor, but obviously there is something else going on here that she's not telling us. Of course, I don't expect her to tell us much yet. She barely knows us. We just met her this morning and she slept most of the train ride.

The hall goes silent once more as Dumbledore stands again. "Let the feast begin." And suddenly, the tables are filled, piled high, with food. Pumpkin juice, chicken, roasted turkey, corn-on-the-cob, mashed potatoes, salads and dressings in all varieties, fruits and vegetables, soups of all sorts, rolls, pasta, and well, almost any dish you could think of. I dig right in. Hermione looks at me like she does every feast, like I'm such a pig. Oh well, I love food and even the girl I have a crush on can't change that. Harry has filled his plate almost as much as I have. Even Leia is getting into it. Bloody hell, she eats a lot (more than other girls, I mean - no one eats more than I do) – and gracefully, too. But I don't mind a girl with a healthy appetite. It's better than starvation, certainly. Besides, if she eats like this all the time, she certainly doesn't show it. I'm impressed. She has even better manners than Hermione. My table manners leave a lot to be desired, I'm not sorry to say.

"So, Leia, are you really who everyone says you are?" asks Lavender Brown, another seventh year. I look to Leia for her answer, but she just laughs.

"That depends," she says, grinning broadly. "Who do they say I am?" I can't help but smile with her. Lavender is taken a bit off guard but seems to recover nicely enough.

"Why, chaser for the Royal Renegades, of course," replies Lavender, tossing her brown hair and giving Leia a look like it should be blatantly obvious.

Leia just ignores the look and answers calmly with a simple, "That's right, I am."

"Wow…" Neville, who is sitting on the other side of Hermione, says with awe. "Another celebrity in Gryffindor." He smiles at Leia, who returns it with a laugh.

"Another?" she asks.

"Yeah," Neville replies, "you and Harry here."

"I see." Leia then takes a drink of her pumpkin juice before continuing. "By the way, I don't believe I have had the pleasure of meeting you yet. I'm Leia Gerwin." She offers her hand to Neville. He shakes her hand excitedly.

"I'm Neville Longbottom."

"Pleasure. Oh, pass the pepper, please, Ron." Leia waits patiently as I reach for the pepper. But I never get to it. Unfortunately, I knock over the pitcher of pumpkin juice in the attempt. Hermione shrieks as the juice spills into her lap. I leap up and hand her my napkin. Leia and Harry donate theirs, as well.

"Ron, you clumsy fool," Hermione scolds as she cleans herself up. I blush, embarrassed. I can't help being clumsy.

Leia smiles in my direction and mouths 'Relax – it's no big deal.' It must be pretty obvious how upset this is making me. Hermione just forgave me for what I said earlier and now I spill juice all over her! And let's not forget everything else that's happened between us. How am I ever going to ask her out now? She'll just say 'no', afraid she'll end up in the hospital wing ten minutes into our date or end up needing therapy when my tactless ways finally take their toll…

I get lost in my thoughts again, but I don't get to stay there too long as Harry starts the conversation back up.

"Well, Leia, it looks as though you get to play Quidditch this year after all. And you were worried you wouldn't get into Gryffindor."

"But Harry," Leia says, uneasily, "before you get everyone excited, don't I have to try out first?"

"Oh yeah, you do, but you'll be fine. After all, with _your_ background, you can't miss. Besides, I am the captain of the team, so what I say goes when it comes to picking new players." He seems even more excited than I am about having a professional Quidditch player on the team – and I have to admit, I didn't think anyone could be more excited than me. Maybe she can even give the team some tips and teach us some of the tricks and stunts you only see in the big leagues. Wouldn't that be great? The Slytherins won't stand a chance!

"If you say so," Leia replies, laughing. "I'm glad _you_ have confidence in me."

"Well, compared to the games you played with the Royal Renegades –" I start, but Leia interrupts.

"Play," she corrects. "I'm still on the team."

"Sorry. Compared to the games you _play_ with them, this should be a walk in the park."

She nods. "I suppose you're right. That leaves only one question in the forefront of my mind. What is Gryffindor Quidditch record to date?"

"Well, I don't know much about what happened before I joined in first year," Harry says, "but while I've been here, our team has won the Cup six years in a row."

"That's good enough for me," Leia says, going back to her dinner. The conversation shifts as Harry and I ponder who is going to be our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor this year. The seat at the head table where our last DADA teacher once sat is now unoccupied.

"It seems strange that Dumbledore hasn't found someone yet," I say, staring at the empty chair. "He usually has talked someone into it by now."

"Maybe too many people know about the curse on the job," Harry says.

"Curse? What curse is that, gentlemen?" Leia's voice penetrates the din as she leans across the table conspiratorially.

Harry is the first to explain. "The Defense Against the Dark Arts job is cursed. No professor lasts longer than one year."

"And who may I ask is responsible for such a curse?"

"Voldemort. He wanted the job years ago, before he got his reputation, but Dumbledore wouldn't let him have it. So to get revenge, I suppose, he cursed the job."

Leia doesn't even flinch at the sound of the name, but I can't help but shiver. Taking us all by surprise, she...she laughs!

"That _does_ sound like something he'd do," she says, more to herself than to us as she stirs butter into her mashed potatoes. "That's his way of throwing a temper tantrum." She chuckles again. Meanwhile, Harry, Hermione, and I stare at her in surprise, confusion, and (in Hermione's case) accusation. But before any of us can say anything at all, to her or otherwise, she regains her composure and says, "Now please, don't mistake my amusement for disport at such an act. I understand completely the gravity of the situation. I've heard stories about the other professors - through the grapevine, as it were - and I must say, I certainly hope that the counter-curse -" She stops, suddenly, in mid-sentence and looks at us with eyes that show she was just about to let slip a secret. And in a way she already has. What exactly did she mean by "the counter-curse"?

"Leia, what was that you were going to say about a counter-curse?" Hermione stares at her with cold, accusing eyes.

"Um..." Leia looks nervous. She's lost her calm and confident air. "Nothing, I mean...It's just that..." She continues to stumble. I decide to save her from Hermione's interrogation, at least for now anyway.

"Hermione, drop it. This is Leia's first night here. Let her enjoy it."

Harry joins in. "Yeah, this really isn't the right place for this. I've always found it a lot harder to divulge secrets and the like in here. It's too public."

Leia gives a weak smile. "Thanks, you two. But you are aware that this gives me ample opportunity to make up a good story to cover up my slip of the tongue?"

Harry laughs at her response. "Yes," he says, "I'm well aware of that. But you barely know any of us and I think the inquisition can wait at least a week - plenty of time for us to get to be friends. That, at least, will give you time to decide how much you trust us."

"And what makes you think I'll trust you in a week, Harry?"

"Oh, I don't know. Let's just say I have a feeling we'll bring you over to our side before long." Harry and Leia exchange teasing smiles as desert appears before us. For the rest of the evening in the Great Hall, the discussion is light and cheerful. But Hermione is obviously not pleased with Harry and I for stopping her before. But, whether she likes it or not, whatever Leia is hiding about this mysterious counter-curse can certainly wait a week or two before it's brought up again. Merlin! We don't even know who our new professor is!


	6. Chapter 6: First Night Here

**Chapter 6: First Night Here And Much On My Mind**

Leia's Pov:

A full stomach from a delicious meal. The warmth of a fire, singing its lulling tune. A snake curled up in front of the hearth. A cat sleeping comfortably in its owner's lap. It almost reminds me of home, and makes me long for that place of refuge though I've not been gone but twelve hours. Hogwarts is a beautiful place - the architecture in particular. The people I hardly know, but I've already taken a liking to some of them.

Ron Weasley for instance. From what I've witnessed, he has a tendency to run off at the mouth. One might say he doesn't look both ways before crossing the street, as it were. In other words, he's tactless. That seems to be his biggest fault, but in an odd sort of way I'm amused by it and find it refreshing to meet someone who speaks his mind, even carelessly, and does not hide inside himself for fear of airing his dirty laundry in public.

Another is Neville Longbottom- a relatively inoffensive chap, but a bit clumsy. He tripped three times coming up from dinner and in the few hours we have all been here, he has managed to spill ink all over Hermione's book (_The Standard Book of Spells: Grade Seven_), set it on fire in a futile attempt to clean up the mess, and tripped over the couch as he was trying to get away from Hermione (who was furious), consequently falling on top of Harry and I. Again, it seems strange that I should take a liking to someone and only point out their faults, but I think it's these faults that draw me to them.

Lavender Brown comes across as a bit stuck up and vain, but maybe she only seems so. I'll have to wait before I can make any final judgments and accusations about any of these people until I get to know them better.

Hermione Granger seems nice enough. Harry's told me she's a lot more pleasant than she lets on, but I'm not so sure she likes me that much. Why she dislikes me I may never know.

Then there's Potter...well, Harry...Merlin! I don't know what to think of him. He's my worst enemy - no, make that _my father's worst enemy_ - but I sort of like him. Then again, how can we be friends? If he knew who I was would he like me then? What would my father say - and do - if he discovered that my pretend friendship with the Boy-Who-Lived turned out to be as real and true a friendship as the scar on Harry's forehead? I know I have only just arrived here, but already I find myself falling under his spell. He's made it clear he honestly wants to be friends, no matter what Hermione says. (Merlin, why does she take such dislike to me?) And I guess I should stop worrying about what my father will think. After all, no one here knows me; even the sons and daughters of Death Eaters have no knowledge of my true identity.

And as strange as it seems that I should take such a quick liking to my father's worst enemy, I can't say I mind too much. Harry's cute and honest and, well, never mind. At this early date, I suppose the reasons aren't as important as the idea. I really hate to disobey and disappoint my father, even if he doesn't know of it yet, but at dinner I recognized an opportunity to be free, to be in control of my own life for once. As Leia Gerwin (_not_ Leia Riddle) I can be friends with anyone I want, no one will judge me by my blood line, I won't have Death Eaters bowing at my feet out of fear and/or respect, and it might allow me to slip more easily and convincingly into my role as Leia Gerwin, foe to Voldemort, alias for Leia Riddle, spy for said Dark Lord. If in reality I really can like Harry Potter and his friends, it will be easier to convince the school that I'm not the spy I really am. After all, Voldemort told me to spy on these people, not kill them.

I sigh inside. But still...I should hate Harry Potter. He destroyed my father and took him away from me for fourteen years. I am the first to admit that Tom Marvolo Riddle is not and has never been much of a father, but as his daughter, his blood relation, I do feel a sort of standing loyalty to him. I want to be able to have my own life, devoid of dark practices and death, but how can I when it goes against everything my father stands for?

"Leia...Leia? Are you alive, girl?" I blink as Harry's voice (along with his hand waving in front of my face) brings me back to hard, cold reality.

"Oh, sorry, Harry. I was just doing some thinking."

"About what?" He looks genuinely curious.

"Nothing that would interest anybody but my father, if I ever dare to tell him."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Um, never mind. Just forget it - it's not that important. Besides, your week to gain my trust has just begun (and I should have bargained for two). You think I am going to give in without a fight? I may be cheap, but I'm not easy." I toss him a playful smirk and he laughs.

"Right," he says with a playful coat of sarcasm. Smiling, I glance around the Gryffindor common room. Students are everywhere, relaxing and talking. Hermione has her nose once again in a book - as a matter of fact, it's the same book she had earlier, _The Standard Book of Spells: Grade Seven_. She must have repaired it after Neville was through with it. Why she wants to read schoolbooks several times in advance is beyond me. If we have to read them throughout the school year anyway, why bother? Ron is playing wizard chess with his sister, Ginny (a sixth year Harry says). "So, Leia, how do you like it here so far?" I turn back to Harry as he speaks again.

"I think I need a week before I can give an official answer," I say, pretending to think about it more than I really do. He laughs again.

"Alright, we'll add that to the growing list of questions we have for you when this week is up."

"Sorry, Harry." I give a small smile. "But one evening doesn't tell me anything. Even for 'so far'." Though it seems enough for me to decide what I think of some of the people. He doesn't seem to mind my skirting around his questions. I definitely think it is possible for me to be a good spy for my father and a good friend to his enemy. Leia Riddle may be forced to despise Harry Potter and the very air he breathes, but Leia Gerwin, chaser for England's Quidditch team and hater of Slytherins, can dare to find in the Boy-who-lived a friend and companion. I just have to be very careful to keep my true identity a secret.

"There's only one question that remains unanswered that can't wait a week. Well, I suppose it can, but I am not that patient." This from Harry.

"Oh?" I reply.

"Why did it take so long for the Sorting Hat to sort you?"

"Um," I try to think of something quickly, for I do not think I should divulge to anyone the exact words that passed between that hat and I. "It couldn't make up its mind at first; and when it finally decided to put me in Slytherin, I argued with it and told it I would accept only Gryffindor or Ravenclaw as my house, both of which the hat indicated I could do well in. Then it had its doubts even still, but I finally convinced it to keep me out of Slytherin. I would hate to be part of _that _house." This statement holds mostly truth, something I wish to stick to as often as possible, even vague truth. That way I will have an easier time keeping track of the stories I tell, and I will be less likely to incriminate myself.

"Yeah, I know what you mean. The Sorting Hat tried to put me in Slytherin, too," Harry says, frowning at some distant memory I would never see myself.

I nod in mock agreement and sympathy. Personally, I would not mind being in Slytherin. I'd be proud to be there except that it might give me away and Harry may no longer trust me. But all that is behind me now. I have made it into Gryffindor...

Flashback, Leia's Pov:

_I take a seat on the stool and wait with baited breath for Professor McGonagall to place the Sorting Hat upon my head. I feel the brim wrap around my head. The hat begins to speak._

_"Ah, a new comer who is over eleven. How exciting. Let's see...hmmm, interesting...there's a lot of Slytherin blood in your veins. Cunning, ambition, a thirst for power and control. You have a sharp mind. You are quite intelligent, clever, and wise. There's wit, too. I see bravery and daring in you. Yes, this _is _a difficult decision. I believe you could do exceptionally well in Slytherin. Ravenclaw and Gryffindor would do nicely, however."_

_I wait patiently for the hat to make up its mind. But as it continues to babble on for a few more minutes, I begin to wonder if it will ever sort me at all._

_"...that could bode ill for you however, since you seem so intent on hiding that side of you...no, no, I think it better be that. It is the only foreseeable good choice. Better be...SLY -"_

_"WAIT!" I voice my thought in as harsh a tone as possible without speaking aloud. I do attempt to keep my outer composure as the hat stops and questions me on my outburst._

_"What do you mean by it?"_

_"I don't want to be in Slytherin."_

_"Are you sure? Your words say no, but I have a feeling it is not for lack of want that you reject my decision. Now, tell me, why do you refuse to join that house when your bloodline stems from it and your mind and heart long to join their ranks?"_

_"I- I can't-"_

_"You can't? And why ever not?"_

_"It's- it's my father. Ok? Let us just leave it at that. He would not allow it."_

_"Somehow, I very much doubt the truth of that statement. But I shall accept it, knowing you shan't give me another answer no matter how I insist."_

_"How right you are."_

_"I always am." The hat pauses before continuing. "Then tell me, Miss _Gerwin_ - if that is indeed your real name - what house would be most agreeable to you?"_

_I remain silent. How does it come to think or know that my name is not Gerwin?_

_"Why don't you answer?"_

_I come up with an answer to satisfy the hat, though it was not why I was first stunned into silence. "I wish not to say or think something which would prove to be advantageous only in getting me placed in Slytherin, as you would have it."_

_"Very well then. You think on it and I will respect your final decision and place you in the house of your choice, even if I do not completely agree with you."_

_I still remain silent for fear I will divulge some secret unknown to all but my parents and I. After a few more minutes, when it seems I have sat there longer than forever, I give my final answer._

_"You decide: Ravenclaw or Gryffindor. I will accept nothing else."_

_"I would still press on for you to join the Slytherins, but I can see your mind is quite made up to defy me there. I would also place you in Ravenclaw but for a doubt I sense in you. And for the fact that you seem to fit more as a Gryffindor than a Ravenclaw, of the two. That being the case, I suppose it better be...GRYFFINDOR!" This last word shouted to the entire hall. And as the cheers and applause greet me and threaten to swallow me in their greatness and abundance, I sit down amid my new, if temporary, family..._

Back to Present, Leia's Pov:

It is late now. After losing to Ron at wizard chess and talking with him and Harry all night, I am attempting get some sleep. Although I felt wide-awake when I first climbed in bed, I am slowing drifting off to sleep now...

_Darkness. Loneliness. That bitter emptiness full of fear and longing... I stare ahead, seeing nothing among the shadows. I take a tentative step forward, but my feet make no sound. Strange, I think. Out of nowhere a harsh wind wraps me in its arms and sends shivers all through my body. I feel the shudder resonating in my chest. I try to walk forward again and this time I do not stop, though a new sound is ringing in my ears. A low moaning. The sound of misery, the sound of pain. Someone is in pain. Of that much I am sure. Suddenly, I glimpse a sliver of orange light not too far in front of me. My hand reaches out to touch it and I feel a door beneath my fingertips. I push it open with a sense of foreboding I can't explain. My eyes sweep the space before me too quickly. I almost faint with the shock of so many such sights at once. The flames that dance in the fireplace, looking too menacing. The crumpled figure sprawled across the floor. The tall figure with snake-like features and chalk-white skin, the red eyes alive with a sick and evil pleasure at seeing its victim struggling for air. The hooded corpse waiting for instructions. I know the pale one. And I know the corpse, the inferi. I watched the pale one, my father, Lord Voldemort, kill the young woman three months ago. Amelia Bones. From the ministry and the Order. Her cold features show no emotion. Her eyes are dead. Her face is as lifeless as her heart. Her skin is no doubt cold with the wind I felt before, her lips cold with the kiss of death..._

I wake up in the black of night shivering, still haunted by what I have just seen. This is not the first time I have had dreams such as this. You would think I'd be used to waking up drenched in sweat. But try as I might, I cannot shake off the feeling of dread and impending doom that is creeping over me as I cower beneath the covers.


	7. Chapter 7: Flames & Dogs Bring Jealousy

**Chapter 7: Flames And Dogs Bring Jealousy...Who'd Have Thought?**

Leia's Pov:

I awaken to the sound of Hermione's voice and the sight of two big yellow eyes and a wet nose full of whiskers staring at me not three inches away.

"Come on, Leia. Get up or you'll miss breakfast and be late for class."

"I will Hermione," I say in a grouchy tone of voice, with the knowledge that it is too early to attempt pleasantries. "I will as soon as you get this damn cat of yours off of me."

"Oh, sorry. Come on, Crookshanks. It's time for your breakfast."

The orange monster leaps from my bed to its owner's and I am able to slide out from under the covers and onto the floor. I get dressed right away, having taken a shower the night before. I brush out my hair and attempt to put on my new Gryffindor tie, but I can't figure it out. I finally give up and put my hand above it, whisper a spell, and watch as it ties itself. I had to do the same thing yesterday on the train with my other tie. I have never had to wear a tie before. I do believe they are more complicated than they have to be.

I debate whether I should wear any jewelry. I do love it, but at the moment I can't make up my mind exactly what I should wear.

"Hermione, which do you like better?" I ask, holding out two sets of earrings to show her - teardrop rubies set in gold or red roses. I love them both.

"Oh, really, Leia. Let's just go," Hermione says exasperatedly. I, however, keep insisting. We're not _that _late! She finally gives in and says, "Uh, I like the roses, I think," as she throws her satchel over shoulder. "Now hurry up and let's go."

I nod and quickly put the roses in my ears, adding a ring to my finger that my father gave me for my seventeenth birthday (a silver snake with ruby eyes). Then I sling my satchel over my shoulder and hurry from the room behind Hermione. But we don't get very far when there is a loud, piercing scream from the seventh-year dorm.

"Where did that- that _thing_ come from?!"

"Somebody do something!"

"Get it out of here!"

We race back to the room and see Lavender and Parvati Patil cowering on one of the beds. They point to the floor and there is Salazar sitting peacefully at the foot of my bed.

"You mean Salazar?" I inquire, innocently, laughing to myself at how silly they're being.

"_You _brought it in here? I might have known," said Lavender with a scowl.

"He won't hurt you, Lavender. Really..." I say, shaking my head at her. I put out my arm to Salazar and he knowingly slithers up it and wraps himself around my shoulders. Hermione and I turn and again make our way down the stairs to the common room as Lavender complains to Parvati about dangerous pets and uncivilized people. I just shake my head.

We meet up with Harry and Ron by the fireplace. Harry notices Salazar.

"You're bringing him to breakfast?" he asks, puzzled. I laugh.

"No, no, he's staying here, but Lavender and Parvati were freaking out about him being in the same room with them, so I brought him down here. He can wander around Hogwarts, I suppose. I don't see why it would be a problem." Harry nods his head in agreement or understanding - I can't tell which.

We all walk through the portrait hole, I set Salazar down on the stone floor, and we go down to breakfast, Salazar gliding along the stone in the opposite direction, grateful of the freedom, I'm sure. While we are eating, Professor McGonagall comes down each side of the Gryffindor table and hands everyone their schedule for the year. I look mine over briefly. I picked my classes weeks ago with Dumbledore and so I know what is going to be on the schedule. My main concern is what class I have first. Potions with Professor Snape. _Snape_...where do I know that name?

"Leia, what class do you have first?" Harry asks, trying to read my schedule over my shoulder as he eats. I turn to him.

"Double Potions."

"Great! You'll be with all of us then- Ron, Hermione, and I."

"Oh, ok." I am glad to know someone. It is never a pleasant treat to be in a class of strangers. We finish breakfast and head to class, the only one located in the dungeons. Harry and Ron sit by the door in the very back and Hermione and I find two seats in front of them. Everyone is talking, but all noise ceases to exist in that dark room as Professor Snape comes into the room, his cloak sweeping along behind him. The door slams shut and everyone looks attentive, though I am not sure how much of it is playacting. Class begins as Professor Snape gives a brief lecture on the importance of N.E.W.T.s, which everyone will be taking at the end of the year. When that is finished, he starts to lecture on a potion that we will be brewing in class today. I take brief notes. I have made this potion before. Mother taught me (potions were always her specialty). It is a potion to protect a person from getting burnt by a fire's flames, a complicated potion to say the least.

"The instructions are on the board." Professor Snape motions to the board as he speaks. "You may begin." Everyone sets to work on brewing his or her potions. I ignore the instructions on the board, however, and reach into my satchel for my potion kit. I put it together myself a year or so ago so that I would always be guarantied to have most of the ingredients I'd need for most potions. I pull out the necessary ingredients and begin to brew my potion the way Mother taught me two and a half years ago. She told me then that by following her directions it would take half the time usually required for this potion. Ever since, I have been finding shorter ways to brew even the most complicated and dangerous potions. Hermione occasionally glances over at my cauldron to see my progress. When she looks over a third time, she sees how different my potion has become.

"Leia, what did you do?"

"What ever do you mean, Hermione?"

"No where on the board does it say that at any time this potion is to be orange!"

"Oh, not to worry. I know what I'm doing."

"Merlin, I hope so." Hermione goes back to her own potion shaking her head. I don't think she believes that I have it all under control.

At one point, Ron has a bit of trouble with his potion, but Hermione helps him correct the problem and get back on track. Otherwise, there is no commotion for almost an hour. Then suddenly, someone lets out a cry of panic and I look across the room to see poor Neville Longbottom staring wide-eyed at his cauldron, his potion acting now as a geyser. I abandon my own potion (which I have to let sit for a few minutes before I can go on with the next step) and hurry over to Neville. I get there before Professor Snape and throw in something I brought from my potion kit. The contents of the cauldron become calm immediately and the potion returns to what it was before Neville messed it up.

"There, Neville," I say, smiling at him sympathetically. "Just pick up where you left off (before you made that mistake) and you'll be fine." He nods and thanks me quietly. "Don't mention it," I say before returning to my own potion. Professor Snape watches me with curiosity shining in his eyes. Within ten minutes my potion is complete. I clean up my place and sit down, watching my classmates struggle with their own potions. Hermione looks over and sees my potion. Then she looks down at me.

"Are you finished _already_?"

"Yeah," I reply. She looks shocked and confused, but only goes back to her own potion. Professor Snape notices me sitting as well and sweeps across the room in a way that is almost threatening. He stands over my cauldron and looks from it to me.

"Am I to understand, Miss Gerwin," he says, "judging by the color of your potion and by your leisurely attitude, that your potion is complete?"

"Yes, sir."

"How, might I ask? Following my instructions, this potion takes two hours to brew."

"Begging your pardon, sir, but I have brewed this potion many times and have learned how to do it in half the time."

At first, he looks as though he may dump the potion and tell me to start over (or dump it all over me), but then he looks thoughtful. "Are you confident it will have the effect it is supposed to?" he asks.

"Yes, sir," I say, holding my head high. He hands me a goblet. I stand up and take it from him.

"Then would you kindly demonstrate its use for the class?" I do not speak, nor do I move. I am sure I brewed it correctly- that is not my concern. I am just not sure I trust him. I have just recalled where I've heard the professor's name before. He is one of my father's most trusted Death Eaters. I would not be worried so much if Snape knew who I was, but to him I am just another Gryffindor, another friend of Harry Potter. What that means for my future in this class, I cannot say. I watch as Snape takes a lit torch from the wall and brings it over to me.

"Go on then," he says. "Take a sip and place your hand in the flames. Prove to us that your version works just as well." Without a word I dip the goblet into the potion and lift it to my lips as everyone watches with curiosity and amusement. I take a sip of the potion and set the goblet down. Slowly I bring my hand to the flame. I watch as the orange and yellow tongues dance around and over my hand and between my fingers. I feel nothing but a tiny inkling of the fire's warmth. I smile with pride as I pull my hand out and show it to Professor Snape. He examines it and looks amused.

"I never thought I'd see the day," he says, chuckling to himself. "Never believed it could happen while I was teaching. So many, not a one...until now...until now..." He returns to his desk and sits down, writing something down on a piece of parchment. I wonder at his reaction. So does everyone else, apparently. Whispers fly through the room, but none are distinguishable. It is not until class is over and Harry, Hermione, Ron, and I are heading to our next class, Transfiguration, that I find out why Snape surprised everyone today.

"I can't believe it!" Harry is saying. "He didn't get angry. He didn't make your potion vanish. He didn't fail you for not following his directions. He actually looked...delighted! I've never seen Snape so happy before, except when he was busy making my life miserable, which he seems to get some evil pleasure from."

"I take it he does not usually like his students to do things better than him?"

"Not all. Just Gryffindor. He's head of Slytherin House, by the way."

"I see." I wonder at how pleased Snape seemed and I wonder what he meant by his last words. But I do not have much time to dwell on it because we have reached the classroom of Professor McGonagall. There are several empty seats in the front of the room still. I sit down between Harry and Hermione (Ron sits on Harry's other side). As class starts, I doodle in the margins of my notes in between making a note or two about how to change a desk into a dog. After a brief lecture, Professor McGonagall tells us to do just that. Within thirty seconds my desk is transformed into a German Shepard. Hermione, who hasn't quite figured it out yet (her desk currently has four hairy legs), looks at me incredulously.

"How'd you do that?"

"I just followed directions," I say, laughing as my transformed desk licks my hand. Hermione glares at me, but soon goes back to her own desk. I turn to Harry, whose desk has a fury top and four paws that it keeps trying to walk away on. "What's her problem?"

"She is usually the first to get things like this right. I don't think she likes being beaten by you twice now- first potions, now transfiguration. But don't worry; she'll get over - Hey! Get back here!" Harry is cut off as his desk, which now has four furry legs and a tail, runs across the room chasing my German Shepard desk. I laugh hysterically at the sight. As I stand there, tears welling up from laughing so hard, Professor McGonagall comes over.

"Miss Gerwin, is that your desk that is now a German Shepard?" she asks as she looks across the room at my desk, which Harry is dragging back over along with his own.

"Yes, professor," I say, trying to suppress a new fit of giggles.

"Good work, Miss Gerwin." With that she walks away to check on the progress of the other students. She did not even comment on Hermione's work. She changed her desk into a black Labrador just before McGonagall came over. Hermione does _not_ look happy.

"Great job, Hermione!" I say, trying to make her feel better.

"Stuff it."

_Merlin, I try to give a compliment! _I think to myself as Harry, panting, hands me my desk. Before it can get away again, I quickly change it back to its original form. "Phew, sorry about that, Harry."


	8. Chapter 8: Fill Me In

**Chapter 8: Fill Me In, I Think I Missed Something**

When class is over, Professor McGonagall calls me to her desk. I turn to Harry and Ron, who have a free bell next before lunch.

"I'll catch up with you later."

"Ok, see you at lunch if we don't see you sooner," Ron says as he and Harry wave brief goodbyes and head out. I walk over to McGonagall's desk. She motions for me to sit down; I oblige.

"Miss Gerwin, do you have a class now?" she asks.

"No, I'm free."

"Good. I'd like a word. Would you like something to drink?"

"Sure, thanks," I reply as with a flick of her wand two cups of tea appear on her desk. I sip my tea as McGonagall watches me thoughtfully through her small, thin glasses. After a minute or so, she puts down her own tea.

"I am curious-" she begins, "curious about your previous training in the ways of magic." Professor McGonagall pauses as though she is expecting some sort of answer. I merely give her a questioning look, which she seems to find satisfactory to allow her to continue. "Rarely in all my years here have I seen someone achieve such success with more difficult transfiguration so quickly. And your case is even more unique. Usually, those students who are so successful in my N.E.W.T. class have been taught by me for five years previously (in the case of seventh years, six) and have achieved Outstanding on their O.W.L.s. You have neither been under my supervision and teaching for me to observe and help, nor have you taken any O.W.L.s. This last bit, I must confess, surprised me greatly when Dumbledore informed me. I was indeed amazed that he felt anyone who had no formal training could possibly survive any N.E.W.T. level class, but your show of skill today in class has shown me that you might prove me wrong yet."

"I hope I can live up to your high expectations, Professor," I say respectfully.

"I am most confident you will. But, as with all things, only time will tell." She smiles at me. "Now, if you don't mind my asking, what sort of education have you had?"

"Well, I have been taught by my mother since I was seven-" I begin, but am cut off by McGonagall.

"_Seven? _My, my, a child using magic. But how did you both skirt around the laws in place by the Ministry of Magic?"

"I didn't get my wand until I was eleven (like every other young witch or wizard)," I explain, "but for those three or four years, my mother taught me how to brew potions. (I borrowed her wand when it was necessary.) By age eleven, I was quite skilled in the art. My mother is a very talented witch, especially when it comes to potions. She is quite the master.

"Once I received my wand, my mother began to teach me everything she knew and she had me reading every book that she could find on subjects such as the ones taught here. She would help me learn everything just as though I were in a normal school. But she did not spread my training out like it is done at schools like Hogwarts and Durmstrang. She insisted I learn as much as possible (to the point that it would become almost second nature) before my seventeenth birthday so that I would be prepared for anything and I could have a chance to get any job I wanted. For you see, just because I may not have any O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s does not mean I cannot prove myself capable. She felt that my education would be slowed if I went to a formal school, which she obviously did not want. She felt there was so much more she could teach me than could be taught in school.

"At age fourteen, my father contributed to my education as often as my mother, but with a little less enthusiasm. In his mind I believe he just wanted me to- err- follow in his footsteps, as it were. And so he taught me more than that which involves magic. I didn't see much of him most of the time. He was always away on, well, on business I suppose. I never questioned him much about such things. He has always had a quick temper and likes his business to be his own. It was only recently that my father over-ruled my mother's decision to keep me out of formal school and decided to send me to Hogwarts. He felt it necessary that I was taught by someone other than my mother and because he was sure there were things they forgot from their own training here at Hogwarts." I stop here, confident this is enough information to make anyone happy- even if the last bit about why I was sent to Hogwarts was completely made up. It is the story my mother told Dumbledore when she came to enroll me at Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall seems satisfied with it at any rate.

"An interesting history to be sure," McGonagall says, smiling at me over her tea. "I must say, I am impressed that your mother felt confident enough to take matters into her own hands, and that she obviously succeeded in teaching you something." She pauses looking thoughtful. "It could also be that you just have a natural talent for magic and are able to easily pick up on things. We shall see, I'm sure, throughout this year the extent of your magical abilities. I shall be watching you closely to see if you should consider extra, private lessons to prepare for the N.E.W.T. exams. Although, judging by yours and Professor Dumbledore's descriptions of your former training, I doubt you will have a problem." McGonagall seems finished and I make to leave, but she holds up her hand to stop me. "Before you leave, may I have a final word?"

"Um, sure," I say, shrugging as I sit back down. She looks down at some papers on her desk and begins shuffling through them as she speaks.

"In fifth year, all students come to their head of house to discuss career advice. This is a requirement for them, but not for you. But as your head of house, I'd like to extend the same courtesy, if you'd like." I'm not quite sure, but I smile a little and respond with a simple 'all right'. "Well then," McGonagall says, "have you considered a career at all?"

"Yes, actually, I have."

"And what career would that be?"

"Err..." I pause. I know what I really want to do - teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, but I don't want to tell _her_ that exactly. There seems to be a strange history among those that have taught here and I'm sure she would advise me against it and also question why I would want to teach the class when there is a curse on it. "Well, I thought maybe a job as an auror at the ministry," I speak the words slowly, saying the first job that comes to my mind.

McGonagall doesn't look surprised like I thought she might, but merely amused. "Hmm, interesting choice - and an ambitious one at that. Are you taking all of the necessary courses? Potions, Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, and Herbology? You are aware you'll need those N.E.W.T.s to even be accepted to train to be an auror?"

"Yes, ma'am. I understand. And I am taking the necessary courses, along with Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Divination, and Care of Magical Creatures."

"Very well," she says with a note of closing. "I will still like to keep in touch with you about your studies, to make sure you are having no troubles."

"Thank you, professor." She smiles at me and I return it half-heartedly.

"You may go now," Professor McGonagall says as she cleans up the teacups with a single swish of her wand.

I nod and head for the door. I step outside the classroom and turn around to offer a final "Thanks again, professor" before heading off down the corridor to Gryffindor tower. My heels click softly on the stone floor. At some point along the way, I pause to stare out one of the many open windows that line the walls of the corridor. I find myself looking out over the grounds, my eyes following the gentle slope of the grassy hill down to a hut with a small garden patch behind it. I watch as a large man, the same one I saw when I got off the Hogwarts Express last night, comes out of the hut and goes into his garden. I hear what seems to be the neighing of a horse, though not quite, and I move over to the next window to get a better look. There I spy a magnificent creature, a hippogriff. He is handsome, too. I know it is a "he" because as I watch the two, the man and the beast, I look into the man's thoughts, using my training in Legilimancy to penetrate his non-existent defenses. There I also discover that the hippogriff's name is Buckbeak, though he has been renamed Witherwings (why I do not know). I stare in awe at the majestic creature. Then Buckbeak suddenly reminds me of the thestral when he wraps his wing around the man...

Flashback, Leia's Pov:

_As I walk past the crowds of students scrambling for the carriages, I spot one that has not yet been claimed. I motion to Ron and he races over to it to save Harry and I places inside. I place Salazar's basket inside, but I pause. Instead of climbing in behind Ron, I turn to see the thestral. Its black eyes seem to catch and hold all of the light. It looks starved, like death always seems. I feel as though I have been cut off from my surroundings as I stare into those bottomless pits of eyes. I am drawn by a sudden urge toward the thestral. I walk up to it without fear or caution. I know to others I may look foolish seemingly staring at nothing, but I do not care. I reach out and stroke the thestral's dark mane slowly and gently. The hair reminds me of cobwebs and water. Suddenly, a breeze sweeps across the land, but I do not feel it whip around my shoulders or head. I glance away from the thestral's beautiful and mysterious eyes to see its powerful wing wrapped around me, to protect me from the harsh and haunting wind. I hear Harry beckon to me and I follow him. But first I turn to the thestral and whisper in its ear, "Thank you, beautiful creature of darkness. I shall not forget you. If ever you are in need of help, call to me with your sorrowful song and I will know and come to you with haste." I turn to go. Am I imagining the saddened look in the thestral's eyes as I leave? Am I imagining the ache of my heart as I leave the pitiful creature behind?_

Back to Present, Leia's Pov:

I let out a sigh as I turn away and walk to Gryffindor tower. I don't mind thinking about the thestral. But I hate thinking about the reason I can see the thestral in the first place. I hate thinking about death...

"Password?" I look up startled. It is only the fat lady that guards Gryffindor tower, sitting in her portrait, having a cup of tea.

"Oh, right, um..." I think for a minute or so, but can't think of what the password could be. I have completely forgotten. The fat lady looks impatient. Then it comes to me. "Quidditch." And she gladly swings out to let me in, glad that I have finally left her sight, I'm sure.


	9. Chapter 9: That's Our New Professor?

**Chapter 9: That's Our New Professor?!**

Leia's Pov:

Back in the common room, I've switched out my books for my afternoon classes. Ron is sleeping on the couch, taking a "much needed nap". I had to laugh at this. He's only had two classes and already he needs a nap. That really is the poorest excuse I have ever heard. Harry and I are playing our third game of Wizard Chess. We're tied: one game each. It's been pretty quiet, except for Ron's snoring. I am about to make a move when Ron snorts loudly in his sleep. It startles me and I jump enough to come dangerously close to knocking over the chessboard and all of the pieces. Harry laughs as I curse Ron.

"Merlin, he's loud. How do you sleep with that?" I say, smiling. As annoying as snoring is to me, this still amuses me.

"I either fall asleep before him or I put cotton in my ears. How the others manage I'll never know," he replies good-naturedly. "Now, make your move before we grow into little old wizards and witches."

"At least I know I'll make a better looking crone than you," I say, a teasing smirk playing on my lips.

"Oh, is that so?" he says, playing along.

"Yes," I say matter-of-factly. "I shall be like the queen," I add with an exaggerated gesture towards the identified chess piece, "strong, beautiful, powerful, wise. And you will be like the king, using a cane for support, wearing a wig to hide your incredible loss of hair, and not able to fend for yourself." He laughs.

"Oh, yeah? Well, I prefer to think that I will become more of a prince charming character."

"And who will I be?"

"The wicked step-mother. Or the ugly stepsister. Take your pick."

"I think I'll take the wicked step-mother role. That way I can burn your ass for insulting me." We're both laughing now. How we got started on this, I don't even remember. But what I do remember and will remember is how easy it is to talk and joke with him.

The bell rings. Lunch. Finally! I'm starved. Harry walks beside me while Ron races down the stairs so fast he is in danger of tripping over his over-sized feet. His run is awkward - understandable seeing as he is over six feet tall and looks like he has been stretched out on the rack. When he reaches the bottom of the long and winding staircase, he turns around to face Harry and I. He folds his arms across his chest and gives us an impatient glare.

"Hurry _up_, you guys!" he complains. "I'm starving!" Harry purposefully slows down and smirks as Ron lets loose an annoyed sigh. I laugh and hurry past both of them to grab some seats for lunch. In seconds, they join me. I eat slowly, listening closely to the conversations around me. I have just distinctly heard someone mention the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and I am curious who our professor will be.

"Do you think they could be related?"

I frown in confusion. I have picked up on two conversations. Both revolve around the DADA professor, but I had missed the start of this first one when I tried to focus on the second. This past question was from the first.

"It's possible, certainly. But it seems like a strange thing to pick someone like that for our DADA professor. Sort of defeats the purpose, doesn't it?" This from the second conversation.

"Leia?" I look up to see Harry looking at me with concern in his eyes. "Are you okay? You look bothered by something."

"I am," I say slowly and softly. Ron leans across the table.

"What's the matter?" he asks.

"Nothing is really the matter," I say as I shake my head. "It's just that I overheard some people talking..." And I tell them about what I heard. They both stare back at me without speaking. Clearly, they are as puzzled as I am.

"Well, we'll find out what all this is about soon enough," Harry finally says. "We have Defense Against the Dark Arts next." I nod. Just another half hour.

Five minutes later, after Ron has moved the conversation on to the coming Quidditch tryouts (an actual date has not yet been set), Hermione sits down next to me and immediately reaches for a sandwich. The conversation isn't interrupted except for a brief exchange between Hermione and I - a _very_ brief exchange.

"Hi, Hermione," I say, with another attempt at friendliness.

"Hi," she mutters half-heartedly. That is the only acknowledgment I receive that she even heard me. When she glares, she looks at her food, not at me. I suppose she is still annoyed about class earlier. Merlin, she's competitive.

"So, Harry, when are tryouts actually going to be?" Ron asks. My ears tune into the conversation once more and I almost completely forget the look Hermione gave her food (a look I know was meant for me).

"I don't know yet," Harry replies. "But it _will_ be sometime in the next two weeks. Most likely they will be held this Saturday though. I want to get started early this year. But first I have to talk to Professor McGonagall about reserving the pitch for us."

Ron just nods. "So, Leia, are you definitely going to try out for the team?" he asks, suddenly, glancing up from a half-eaten sandwich.

"Of course!" I exclaim. "What ever gave you the idea I might not try out?"

"Oh, nothing really. Just my own paranoia. It just seems like it's too good to be true to have a professional on the team."

I laugh. "Well, don't let your imagination run wild. I assure you, I would not ever consider turning down a chance to play Quidditch." Ron grins and looks especially pleased with the confirmation. Hermione glares at him. Harry grabs a pumpkin pasty from a plate in front of him and shoves it into Ron's grinning mouth. Hermione and I burst out laughing. Ron looks quite puzzled. Harry then leans over and whispers something in his ear at which Ron blushes upon hearing. He stares at Hermione with an almost apologetic look, to which she merely shrugs. I glance at Harry and he swiftly moves his eyes from Ron to Hermione and back to me with a barely concealed smile. I nod knowingly and hide my smile behind my pumpkin juice. It's obvious that Ron likes Hermione. Even a new student like myself can see that.

Soon the bell rings, marking the end of lunch. The four of us jump up and hurry to our next class. We pause outside of the door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Harry sucks in a nervous breath.

"Shall we?" he says as he leads the way into the dimly lit room. We take seats toward the front of the room and wait. The bell rings, but there is no sign of our professor. Then suddenly, a door opens at the top of a staircase at the front right-hand side of the room and a tall figure sweeps into the classroom, their black cloak billowing out behind them. All around me, students tense and stare nervously at the new professor. The professor walks to their desk and, standing in front of it, takes off their hood to reveal...

No! It can't be! Several students gasp (in awe, in fear, in surprise - who knows with some people). I stare wide-eyed at the tall, impossibly beautiful woman in front of me, at the blond locks that cascade around her shoulders, at the honey bronze eyes, at the sharp angles of the face, at the pale lips, at the chalk-white skin...at my mother.

What is she doing here? Did Dumbledore really give her the job? And what about the curse on the job? And what about her secret? I know her secret has already been discovered as Hermione gasps along with the others and whispers almost inaudibly, "A vampire..."

That's right. A vampire. My mother is a vampire. She has been for years now - since before I was born. Crazy, I know. Impossible? Not quite. A vampire bit her in her very early twenties, but she escaped the painful death he had in store for her. As she crawled into a nearby house, abandoned, desolate, she endured a different transformation than that of life to death. For days she lay writhing in a burning agony until she was fully transformed and reborn as a vampire.

She eventually trained herself to restrain from drinking human blood. She hated the idea of being seen as a murdering monster. Ironic then that she became a Death Eater, becoming the same murdering monster she feared she would become. And she doesn't seem to care at all.

Now, as far as I know, I am not in any way a vampire. It is not hereditary or anything. Although I have often wondered what it would be like to be a vampire.

"She looks almost just like you!" Harry whispers to me, glancing from my mother to me and back again with a mix of confusion and nervousness on his face.

I nod and then whisper back, "That's my mother."

He stares wide-eyed. "You're joking!" I just shake my head in response. My mother raises her hand for silence. The entire room goes silent in an instant. That familiar power over people she has.

"Welcome, class, to your seventh and final year of Defense Against the Dark Arts training. I am Professor Gerwin and I will be teaching you the ways of the Dark Arts and the defense against said dark magic." She walks back and forth across the classroom as she talks, staring at each person in turn, taking in their expressions with amusement dancing in her eyes. I may be the only one who notices these subtle hints at her mood, but I have lived with her all my life so that is to be expected.

"I have talked with the headmaster about your previous training in here and it seems to me that you may still have a lot to learn about the nature of the Dark Arts. Simple hexes, jinxes, and counter-curses, along with casual knowledge of dark creatures, can only get you so far in this world. Especially now." She moves back to perch on the edge of her desk. "Things aren't always what they seem," she says with a touch of foreboding. A sudden gust of wind, seeming to come from no particular direction, circles the room and the torches are extinguished, throwing the entire room into a deep, black nothingness. Several girls scream and Hermione gasps beside me. I roll my eyes in the darkness; I'm used to my mother's love for dramatics. I quite admire it actually. I prefer more subtle, quiet displays, but her creativity over the years has always intrigued me. Her voice penetrates the sudden nervous stillness.

"As some of you have guessed, I am not mortal. Nor am I human. I am a vampire: a blood thirsty, fanged, night loving vampire." Those that haven't already figured this out gasp. A single candle springs to life in my mother's hand. It illuminates her face and she looks beautifully terrible in the flickering light. "But I wonder if you really know me. I wonder if you can tell me what I am and how I am and why I am. I wonder..." She trails off and extinguishes the candle. Not a second later the torches lining the walls brighten the room to a low dim once more. Mother's soft eyes sweep the room, eventually landing on Hermione.

"Miss Granger, is it?"

Hermione looks very surprised that she would be so easily identified by a stranger. "Yes?" she replies, trying her hardest to keep all nervousness out of her voice.

"Name one characteristic of a vampire."

"They are immortal," Hermione responds promptly.

"Wrong," my mother, Professor Gerwin, says. "Mr. Malfoy, same question."

Draco Malfoy is not as surprised to be recognized. His father and he are both Death Eaters with my mother. "They drink only human blood," he says, smirking with overconfidence.

"Wrong again." Malfoy's smirk drops like lead from his face. My mother is unfazed. She is used to so many misconceptions about vampires. "Mr. Weasley."

"They sleep in coffins?" he responds timidly.

"Wrong. Miss Brown?"

People shift in their seats, afraid to be called on next, afraid they too will be humiliated by their lack of knowledge about something they thought they knew all about.

"They hate the sun."

"Wrong. Mr. Macmillan?" She is firing the question at the next victim before the first is done speaking. She knows what they are going to say before they say it and I can see she is enjoying this talent of hers: her ability to read minds without the Legilimens spell.

"They sleep in the day."

"Wrong. Mr. Potter."

"They can read minds."

"Wrong." I know why she says this latest theory is wrong: not _all_ vampires can read minds. "Miss Carter."

"They're skin is thin and frail."

"Wrong." She walks behind her desk and sits down. She looks at me and I use Legilimens to see into her thoughts. _Leia, I want to speak with you after class, so please stay behind._ I nod. Harry looks from me to my mother and back, unsure of what is going on. "Miss Gerwin, I wonder if you would be so kind as to enlighten your classmates as to the true nature of vampires." She folds her hands in front of her, her elbows on the desk, her chin resting on her hands. I nod, stand, and walk to the chalkboard. She looks at me with quiet amusement. _How did you know I wanted you to use the board?_

I smile. _You're not the only one here who can read minds._ She just chuckles softly and watches me. I pull out my wand and mutter a charm over the chalk. I enchant it to write for me.

"Vampires," I begin and the chalk writes it on the board. "Creatures of myth and legend to some, realities to others. To clear up some of the most common misconceptions about these beautiful beings, I'll start by going through everything you said and tell you why you were wrong." I glance around at everyone and Harry gives me an encouraging smile. I take a quick peak at his thoughts. He trusts my knowledge since he is the only one right now who knows for sure that our vampire professor and I are related. Everyone else thinks so, but they aren't sure. I continue.

"First, vampires are not completely immortal. They can live for centuries, for eternity, but what makes them not quite immortal is the fact that they can be killed. But only another vampire or a werewolf or a very powerful wizard can kill them, but even the last instance is rare.

"Second, they do drink human blood, but they don't have to. There are some who drink animal blood instead. Those that do the later are usually those who do not want to kill people, or those that wish to keep their identity more secret in order to keep a more permanent residence. There are many though who do drink only human blood. They either cannot stand animal blood or it does not satisfy their thirst enough or they do not care about petty human lives.

"As for sleeping in coffins, vampires do not sleep."

"At all?" someone asks from the back of the room. It is a Ravenclaw girl I have not yet seen before.

"At all," I confirm. "And they don't hate the sun either. Actually, some are quite partial to it. The sun does affect them, but in ways that are indescribable. Words cannot express the sight of a vampire walking in daylight.

"As for reading minds, some can, but not _all_. The dark gift is different for everyone. Every vampire has different powers. Some can see the future; some can read minds; some can track down their prey from great distances; some can essentially read souls, if such can be done with a soul.

"And finally, their skin is anything but frail. The skin of a vampire is hard as stone and just as cold. They are very strong and very fast, as well." I stop and look to my mother for further instructions. She stands and addresses the class.

"I hope you have been writing down these notes," she says, knowing that half of them never even pulled out a quill. People scramble in their bags for something to take notes with. "Thank you, Leia. I hope the rest of you remember these things. Otherwise, you will be sorry excuses for wizards if you ever encounter a vampire who is not as controlled or friendly as I." I make my way back to my seat and there I find a folded piece of parchment on my chair. I open it up as my mother sifts through the papers on her desk.

_Leia,_

_Did you know that she was going to be teaching here? It's just that you looked as surprised as I was, as everyone was, and I wasn't sure why. Is she really a vampire? Are you part vampire then?_

_- Harry_

I turn the parchment over and scribble my reply on the other side.

_Harry,_

_No, I did not know about this. Believe me, I was more surprised than anyone here. Yes, she is a vampire. And as far as I know, I have not inherited any of the characteristics attributed to vampires, though my magical abilities might have been affected and made stronger or more enhanced by our relation, but I do not know for sure._

_- Leia_

_PS. I can explain things in more detail later. How about Saturday?_

I pass the note back to Harry and he quickly reads over it before writing his response below mine.

_Saturday? Why does everything have to wait until then? You're cruel._

I smirk and give a short, concise reply.

_I know._

He just glares and follows that with a smile. Then he whispers, "You know, at this rate, you'll be talking from sun up to sun down and maybe longer." I stifle a laugh and make to respond, but Mother begins again.

"Those of you who have taken out your text books please put them away. You will not need them today. This year we will step beyond the boundaries of textbooks and common knowledge and explore the world of the Dark Arts from a more realistic perspective.

"I know you studied the Unforgivable Curses in your fourth year, but we are going to cover them once again as they are important to know how to defend. Also, Leia has been working on a new counter-curse that will allow you to block the killing curse, _Avada Kadavra_. But it will only be as strong as you are. That is the beauty and horror of magic."

Whispers fly all around at the mention of my name and the killing curse. I cringe at the exposure. No one but my mother was ever told of my extra studies of magic, of my many experiments, most of which ended in disaster. I am not so sure I am that comfortable with the entire school knowing...And wait a moment...if my mother is a Death Eater, why is she teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts? Well, I suppose what I want to know more is why she is divulging our secrets to these mudblood-loving freaks? Hell, why did she have me divulge her own secret? I wouldn't have done it or answered her question correctly if she hadn't practically ordered me to.

"There will be some overlap between this class and Potions, but only occasionally. At those times, when it is necessary for a spell, I will have you bring your cauldron to class. The ingredients you already have for Potions will not help you much with what we will be dealing with, but if you wish to bring them, please do. You may find them more useful than others will. The potions we will be brewing are as susceptible to change as the weather. What may work for one person will not always work for another.

"Finally, you will be taught as many spells, hexes, jinxes, and counter-curses as will fit in your memory. I wish to teach you everything I know and more. You will be tested at the end of the year on what I have taught you. This short examination will take place before your N.E.W.T. exam and will be a practical test of your knowledge. The exact nature of this exam will be revealed at a later date.

"Now, if anyone has any questions, please feel free to ask." She looks around and at first no one answers, but then Ernie Macmillan's hand is raised slowly into the air. My mother calls on him even before his hand reaches the height of his ear. "Mr. Macmillan?"

"First, are you really a vampire?"

"Yes," she replies calmly.

"Then can you tell me why Dumbledore asked you to teach?" he asks, looking nervous. "No offense intended, of course," he adds quickly. It is not wise to anger a vampire, though I doubt my mother would have been anything but amused. She is not easily offended by such curiosity. In fact, she encourages it.

"No offense taken," she says. "I was asked to take the position not too long after Leia was enrolled here. Apparently, he was impressed by Leia's training from me and felt I would be an excellent choice. Or so my daughter says."

I nod and smile. "That's what he told me." She smiles a dazzling smile, as is usual with vampires. The beauty of vampires never ceases to amaze me. They are beautiful without even trying. They are beautiful even when they are angry, even when they are marked by evil.

"Yes," she continues, "he seemed to think I was suitable for the job and he asked me only a week ago. He knows that I am a vampire, and he must have considered the matter more than one would think necessary. I know about your previous professor, Professor Lupin, and all of the trouble his presence stirred up. But I suppose the school is desperate enough to take even vampires as long as they are good teachers." She pauses, as though she may continue. But when she doesn't, Hermione's hand flies up so fast, my mother barely has time to notice even with her lightning-fast reflexes. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

"What about silver?" Hermione asks.

"What about it?" A small frown flashes across Mother's face. I doubt anyone took any notice, but still, I know what is going through her head.

"Can silver harm vampires?"

Mother looks at first as though she isn't going to answer, but then she sighs. "I suppose, as your professor, I have a responsibility to teach you and arm you. But you must promise that what you learn in here will only be used in self defense." I know this is only a front. My mother the Death Eater does not follow this rule, but she said it mainly to save her own skin, literally and figuratively. "Yes, silver can harm vampires. It burns us. Most Muggles think it is the sun that burns us, but that is not the case. The sun affects us much differently." More people raise their hands in quick succession and Mother seems delighted once again to answer their questions. She explains more about what we will be learning this year and even demonstrates a few hexes. An excited murmur, that fast turns into a loud rush, of excitement sweeps the room when Professor Gerwin announces that we will be practicing dueling this year as well.

After another hour has passed, the bell rings, signally the end of class.

"Class dismissed," Professor Gerwin says as she goes to sit behind her desk.

"What shall we do until dinner?" Ron asks as he packs up his notes. "We have half an hour."

"Well first, we can drop our bags off in the dorms. At least we won't have to carry them to dinner," Harry suggests.

"Then maybe we can play a round or two of wizard chess," Ron puts in. Harry seems to like that idea. Hermione just rolls her eyes and laughs.

"You two and your chess and Quidditch."

We start to leave, but suddenly my mother's voice breaks into my thoughts.

_Leia, I want to speak with you. Or have you forgotten?_ She laughs in my mind.

"Oh, guys, I have to stay behind. If I don't see you sooner, I'll meet you at dinner," I say quickly. Harry seems to understand why and merely nods. But Ron and Hermione are more confused, and Ron looks worried by the fact that I'm staying behind with a vampire. "She's my mother," I quickly explain. "She wants to talk to me." They nod slowly, recognition suddenly dawning on their features.

"Alright then," Ron says, "we'll see you in a bit." He waves once and walks out, closely followed by his friends. I turn back to my mother and go to sit on the edge of her desk. There are no extra chairs and I know she won't mind. This is not a formal interrogation like it was with Professor McGonagall.


	10. Chapter 10: A Dark And Hidden Secret

**Chapter 10: A Dark And Hidden Secret**

Leia's Pov:

"Well, mum, long time no see," I joke and she laughs.

"Yes, well, this was quite unexpected for everyone I imagine." She leans back casually in her seat. "You seem to be doing well so far."

"I only just got here. I wouldn't go so far as to assume so much of my social skills just yet."

She laughs again, that velvety sound ringing as always in my ears. Her laugh is as beautiful as she is. "Maybe so, maybe so..." She looks around, taking in everything - the desks, the portraits on the walls of various witches and wizards who were in their day vampire hunters or vampires (each vampire hanging next to his/her hunter), the lit torches, the drawn curtains - a dark setting, but one that is pleasing to both my mother and me.

"So, is that how you really got the job then?" I ask of her without clarifying what I am talking about. But she knows.

"Yes," she sighs. "I did not really want the job. I would have been happy staying out of this school to continue with my duties, but your father insisted." She frowns. "He did not tell me about it, but I looked into your thoughts when you first saw me today and I know about the curse. Of course _he _would not tell _us_ anything if it got in the way of his precious plans." She looks disgusted with him. By 'we' I cannot tell if she means the two of us or the Death Eaters, but I do not press the matter.

"I wish you would have said something, mum. I would have told you before you ever came here."

She looks saddened by this long gone prospect, but then she smiles. "What does it matter? I do not want the job any longer than the year I'm already responsible for, so why do I need to worry about leaving at the end of this year?" She smiles at me with motherly airs and I cannot help but smile back. She knows that I am worried about her leaving for worse reasons than her own choice or Dumbledore firing her, but she reassures me and I push aside my worry for another day and a more appropriate time. Besides, who can kill a vampire that easily?

"Now what I want to know," she begins again, "is how you managed to get into Gryffindor." She points to the Gryffindor House crest on my robes. "I'd also like to know why Potter has befriended you so quickly. But you can answer the former first."

"Getting into Gryffindor was easy," I say. "The hat argued with me a lot, but in the end I convinced it to put me in Gryffindor and here I am."

"It wanted to put you in Slytherin, I take it?"

"Yes, it did. But Father told me that my best line of defense here would be to reside in the house that was full of 'Dumbledore's pets'." I imitate my father in a mocking tone and Mother laughs.

"Now, Leia, you know what I have told you about insulting or making fun of your father." She attempts to scold me, but fails miserably as she laughs again.

I smile and shrug. "You know I don't mean anything by it, mum."

She nods. "I know." And she does. She is well aware of how much respect I have for my father and of the lengths I will go to protect him and his honor. When I 'make fun of him', it is only in childish fun. As long as he isn't around to hear it, why should it bother him?

"And as for Harry..." I trail off. I am not sure where to begin because I am not sure what the answer is. "I can't say I know what he really thinks of me, though from what I've seen -"

"He likes you," my mother interrupts. "I read his mind. He likes you a lot. And what I want to know is why. Did you use a charm? A potion by chance?"

I shake my head. "No, none of those things. I didn't do anything."

"How did you two meet?"

"On the train, I asked to sit with him and his friends, Ron and Hermione, not knowing who they were, of course."

"Of course," she responds to let me know I should continue.

"I didn't talk to them much. When Harry introduced himself, my jaw dropped to the floor and I swear he saw every emotion that passed through my features, including loathing and annoyance. Judging by that, I can't see why he took such a quick liking to me. It seems obvious to me that I am, at least, not a fan of the great Harry Potter. Unless..." I pause, a new thought coming to me. "Unless he decided not to worry about that (or unless he forgot about it entirely) after he came to the conclusion that I was not a fan of Slytherins. That alone would get his attention it seems, from what I know of him anyway."

"Now how did you manage to show him that?" Mother asks with amusement.

"Malfoy stopped by, Draco Malfoy, and he was being an ass. So I told him off and bruised his ego, and he left us alone and ran back to his compartment." I shrug. "From what I've noticed, Harry and his friends do not get along with Malfoy much, even more than usual for Gryffindor and Slytherins."

She chuckles. "So it would seem. Amazing, isn't it, that all you had to do was insult Malfoy's boy once or twice? How quickly he is convinced."

"Yeah, but I'll have to tune up my story-telling skills for Saturday if I'm going to keep that trust."

"They've started questioning you then?"

"Yeah, and I've let a few things slip that have triggered their curiosity. But I think I can get myself out of this without a problem. I didn't tell them anything significant. Besides, what could they possibly want to know so early on in our 'friendship'?" I make the quotes obvious and she nods in approval. I can see that she is pleased with my devious plans.

"Very well," she says. "I suppose I should let you go. Harry and his friends will wonder what happened to you. Ron already seems about to have a fit that you've been gone for an entire fifteen minutes." She throws her hands up in mock exasperation. "Why, the new professor might have feasted on you by now, or turned you into a vampire!" The sarcasm is clear in her voice. I laugh.

"Then I suppose I must be off," I say in between chuckles. "We mustn't let the enemy think I have been murdered by our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

"Oh my, goodness no," she replies. "Well then, off with you. I'll see you in class on Wednesday."

I stand up and bid her a brief goodbye and head off to find Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

Harry's Pov:

"I don't care what you say, Harry. I still don't trust her," Hermione says with a frown. I glare at her.

"Why not? What could she have done in the last twenty-four hours that could be considered shifty behavior?" I ask, annoyed with her for bringing this up _again_.

"Well, she _seems_ nice enough, but consider all we know about her-"

"Which isn't much," Ron puts in. Hermione looks frustrated by his input, as though it has crushed any theory she may have had.

"Even so," she recovers, "she knows the Malfoys, Death Eaters all-"

"But _we _know the Malfoys, Hermione," I interrupt. "Are you saying we should be under some suspicion, too?"

"No, that is not what I'm saying," she snaps. "If you'll let me finish, I will explain." She stands up and paces in front of the hearth in the Gryffindor Common Room. "She _personally _knows the Malfoys, more so than we do it seems. Her ancestors have all been in Slytherin since the founding of Hogwarts. Her parents are no doubt supporters of Voldemort, if not actual Death Eaters. And even if she is not on his side, as you say, her parents could still influence her. Also, her mother is a vampire apparently and somehow she is not. Finally, it seems Leia knows much more than what she is telling us about the Defense Against the Dark Arts job and the curse upon it."

I sigh. "Hermione, what difference does it really make? Nothing but that last bit about the DADA job has anything to do with Leia directly and I'm sure she'll confide in us in due time. Just let her warm up to this place and us. Being a stranger trying to fit in amongst people who are so comfortable in their ways and friendships is not easy. She'll come 'round."

"I just want you to be careful, Harry," she says and she means it. I can tell by the look she gives me. I return it with a small smile.

"Don't worry. I will be."

She sits down and pulls out her homework. "I guess we should start on Snape's essay," she says, always organized, always working ahead.

"Homework? Really, Hermione, do we have to? After all, it's not due until Thursday!" says Ron, always the procrastinator. I laugh and so does Hermione. But never the less she pulls out her things and begins composing her essay.

"Even still, I think we should start on it."

I nod, starting to agree with her. For the last six years I have been a procrastinator, and even though I'm not about to change my ways dramatically (or at all), I have a feeling Snape's essay is going to be a pain if we don't at least do _something_ tonight.

"We should get at least a bit of a start on it," I say and Ron's jaw drops in astonishment. I hold up my hand to stop him from protesting or commenting on my new and sudden streak of responsibility. "But let's hold off on it until after dinner, Hermione. We just came from class and I know _I'm _certainly not ready for more academic studies right now." Ron looks relieved and claps me on the back.

"That's the Harry we all know and love!" he says, grinning. "Organized procrastination - that's his style."

I laugh at Ron's enthusiasm as Hermione shrugs, sighs in exasperation and defeat, and puts her essay away. Ron pulls out a deck of cards and the three of us play a few rounds of Exploding Snap. I eventually look at my watch and see that we still have ten minutes until lunch.

"I'm starving!" Ron complains as his stomach growls loudly. "Isn't it time to eat yet?"

"No," I say as I place a card on top of the growing pyramid before me. "We still have ten minutes." I set the card down, but the game ends as the entire stack of cards explodes in my face. Ron cracks up laughing and several people milling about in the Common Room look over at the sound. I wipe my face off on my robes as best I can and glare at Ron. I push the smoldering pile towards him. Then I pick up an extra card that had been lying off to the side and that had not been part of the mini-bomb and I throw it on top of the pile. It explodes again and Ron is soon covered in ashes as well. Hermione and I both burst out laughing at his dumbfounded expression.

"I'm glad to see hunger has not stolen your sense of humor," a light voice says from behind me. I turn to see Leia standing there laughing at us. I smile.

"Hi, Leia," I reply.

"Hey," she says. "Enjoying yourselves, I see." She pulls her wand out of the pocket of her robes and summons two fluffy white towels from the girls' dormitory bathrooms. With her wand she dampens them and hands one each to Ron and I. We use them to clean up our faces and hands.

"Thanks," I say, throwing the towel over the arm of the couch. "I needed that."

"I figured you did." She smiles and sets down her satchel and books. "You three look hungry," she adds. "I know I am. Shall we head off down to dinner?"

"Sounds great!" Ron says as he jumps up from the floor where he had been sitting, grabs Hermione's hand, and hurries to the portrait hole, dragging Hermione along behind him. "Come on, you two," he calls back to Leia and I. "Let's eat!" He races off, but not before getting embarrassed about his close proximity to Hermione and dropping her hand. Hermione seems a bit flustered; Leia and I try to stifle our laughter.

The dinner conversation ranges from light talk about school and our classmates to a serious discussion of the many deaths now building up on both sides as the war continues on.

"I hear the Death Eaters killed that new auror," Ron says, "you know, the young girl just out of school."

"Yeah, they did," Hermione confirms. "Her name was Rebekah Covington. Apparently, she had not been given much formal training among the aurors when they sent her on her first assignment. They're getting desperate these days for help."

"I'll say," I add. "The Death Eaters are gaining more power and more support the longer this war drags on."

And so it goes on and on. Leia doesn't say much whenever we bring up the war. I wonder if she just prefers to stay out of it or if she is afraid of saying something she is not supposed to. Perhaps Hermione is right. Maybe she wants to find out how much we know and any information that could help Voldemort...Wait, what am I saying? Now I'm doing exactly what Ron and I accused Hermione of earlier: jumping to conclusions and putting a label on the girl when we hardly know her.

Later, after dinner, we are sitting around the fire back in the Common Room. Ron, Leia, and I are discussing the possible dates for the Quidditch try-outs. Hermione is working on her essay for Snape: _Describe the creation of the De-Incendio Potion and its effects on humans. Then discuss its effects on three different magical or non-magical creatures and whether or not it works the way it is meant to. Why or why not?_

"Wait a moment!" Hermione suddenly exclaims. We all look up at her in surprise. "I was reading something for the essay when I came across something that reminded me of our Defense Against the Dark Arts class today."

"Oh, what's that, Hermione?" Ron asks.

"Well, remember how Professor Gerwin said that silver could burn vampires? I thought silver could only harm werewolves. It's wood that harms vampires - well, a wooden stake anyway."

"On the contrary, Hermione," Leia speaks up, "a wooden stake does no more than irritate them. But silver is more deadly to vampires than to werewolves. They burn both species, but what my mother did not mention, and for good reason I might add, is that silver is like a deadly poison to vampires. It first depletes the store of venom in their blood and then it melts into the bloodstream to become its own venom." There is a severe tone of warning in her voice. "It is extremely difficult to kill a vampire. Only three things can do so. Silver, the killing curse, and another vampire."

"Not even a werewolf can kill a vampire?" I ask, remembering something Professor Remus Lupin, our old DADA professor, taught us in third year.

"Oh, well, yes, yes I suppose they can," Leia stumbles. "I almost forgot the werewolves. They _can_ kill vampires, though I doubt one could ever best my mother," she replies with pride and a smirk. Hermione looks skeptical.

"How do you know so much about vampires? Who made you the expert?" she asks, her words dripping with criticism and loathing of Leia's extensive knowledge.

"I _live_ with a vampire, Hermione. How could I _not_ know so much?" Leia replies with a hint of arrogance. Hermione is taken aback, but she's not about to give up the fight.

"But how can every myth, every legend, everything we've ever been taught or told be so suddenly and quickly proven false by the daughter of a vampire, who may not even be that vampire's real daughter? Where is the proof for the rest of us? How can we so quickly change our views?"

"To borrow a hackneyed expression, things are not always what they seem, Hermione," Leia replies calmly. Her words fill me with a sense of foreboding. "Myths are just and only that - myths. There is no truth in most of them. Legends are only ever partially accurate in their telling and those about vampires are hardly ever right. As for what you've been taught, well, textbooks are only as smart as the people who wrote them. Not all authors do their research." She stands up and crosses to the fire. "Now, you asked for proof...Well, that I can tell you is hard to come by. Most vampires do not come out in public, as you may well know. Neither do werewolves. And I assure you my mother is not going to demonstrate anything to the class that would be of any real value in your search for proof. The most she will do is read your mind, which many powerful wizards can do with Legilimancy." Salazar, her familiar, is curled up in front of the hearth; Leia crouches down to gently run her finger along his scales. "And about my relation to Professor Gerwin, I assure you it is legitimate. I _am_ her daughter. Didn't you notice how twin-like we are?"

"Yes, I did notice," Hermione says, looking _almost_ defeated. "But how can you be her daughter without being a vampire?" she asks with real curiosity. Ron and I lean closer as Leia glances up nervously.

"I don't know," she whispers and I can tell this may have been the wrong question to ask. "No one can explain it," she continues softly. "You'd think I _would _be a vampire, but so far I have not shown any signs that would indicate eventually becoming one. My father thinks that some of my magical abilities draw from the vampire blood in me, as well as from both my parents' own abilities, but I don't know."

"If you have shown no signs and if it doesn't look like you're going to be a vampire any time soon, why do you sound so worried?" Ron asks, moving closer. "Why is it such a big deal?" I lean in to hear her answer, the words barely audible amid the nightly babble of the Common Room.

"My father liked the idea of having a vampire bearing his child. Technically then that child would be a vampire. He felt that between my mother's magical powers and his own, not to mention the intelligence harbored in them both, his child would be almost unstoppable as a vampire. But I'm not a vampire. And even inheriting everything else, that is a lot to live up to." She turns away and stares into the small, dying fire.

"Is that why you have been trying to find a way to defend against the killing curse?" I ask softly. She responds without looking at any of us.

"She wasn't supposed to mention that to anyone. Until this summer she didn't even know about it. But yes, that is part of it. I have been delving deeper and deeper into the art of magic, both dark and light, in order to find a way to make my father proud. So far I have all but succeeded. I feel I am still a disappointment to him..." She trails off as she gets slowly to her feet. "I'm going to bed," she whispers. "I'll see you in the morning." And without another word, she walks off towards the girls' dorms and disappears up the winding stairs.

Did she really just tell us something so secret? Have we really gained her trust so quickly? Or is she just desperate for someone who will lend their ear to hear what she has to say, what she wants to say, what she longs to say...There was a sadness about her just now that I could not comprehend. I want to go to her, to follow her up that forbidden staircase, and hold her close and comfort her. In this one long moment I want to help her and be there for her. But Hermione's words break through to me and they give me pause. _I just want you to be careful, Harry._ Was there something dangerous as well in her words? Was it more than just a plea for help? Was it a plea for us to remain ignorant of her life and knowledge? Was it a warning against every question we've wanted to ask her? I wish I could ask her; I wish I could know her. In the short time I've known her, all too short to come to any real conclusion I should think, I have been drawn to her. It seems impossible, even to me, that she could so quickly and easily pull me into her world and bind me to a strange yet pleasant infatuation. For a brief instant I wish I could reverse time and cut her out of my life, but at the same time I wish to hold onto this chance forever, no matter how many times I may alienate it or her in the future.


	11. Chapter 11: Charmed? I Think Not

**Chapter 11: Charmed? I Think Not...Well, Maybe...**

Leia's Pov:

_A long dark corridor, a tall winding stair, a ragged breathing from behind. I walk along with no control as the creature follows me. I know what it wants and I know I must submit or face the dire consequences. That is why I do not run. But why do I not stop and face my destiny, face what I know I was meant to face all along? I do not stop; I do not turn around. I will not let the creature have its way. I will not submit. But at the same time, I can't completely pull away. I am too afraid of what rebellion would bring. Too afraid of breaking free. What if I fail? What if I cannot stand on my on two feet alone? What if...what if..._

_But then I stop walking. I tell myself it is I that will control my life. I will have power and control over what I do, what I say, what I think. I turn around to face the creature. It reaches out for me, but I back away out of its grasp. It snarls and lunges towards me. I freeze when some unknown force overcomes me and keeps my feet planted. Whether it be fear, shock, or simple stupidity I cannot say..._

Beep beep. Beep beep. The alarm rings and wakes me from a troubled sleep. I had a dream, a dream I would rather not think about. But it's early, breakfast won't be for another hour, and everything is already packed up for my classes today. There is no reason for me to get up just now. I lie in bed under the warm, safe blankets and stare at the invisible ceiling. Night still fills the room; the sun is not yet up. I think back on the dream...well, nightmare actually...

The creature never took hold of me; I awoke before it could. But I can feel the sweat on my forehead. I am shaking from head to toe. It did not seem so frightening while it was happening, but now when I reflect upon it, I am scared more than I have ever been before. The dilemma from the dream mirrors my own dilemma in real life: who do I side with, what do I do when faced with impossible choices, where do I go when I reach the fork?

Hermione's question struck a chord last night, as did Harry's and Ron's. Originally, I thought it would be pretty cool to be a vampire. Sure, the existence had its downfalls, but then again so does my human existence. But as I lie here I wonder if it would not be better to stay human. I am afraid of such a drastic and eternal change. Besides, I cannot stand to kill any of the traitors or foes my father wishes dead. How do I expect do be able to kill innocent people to quench my thirst? Will I be strong enough like my mother to drink only animal blood? Even my mother has given into temptation sometimes. When my father wants her to kill someone, she does not simply use _Avada Kedavra_; she kills, she _murders_ in the fashion of the vampire, draining the life from her victims slowly and allowing them to see their life pass before them and float away on a deathly wind.

I sigh aloud and roll over onto my side. I stare at the numbers on the clock until my vision blurs. I consider Harry's final question and my open and vulnerable answer. I wish to make my father proud, but I know not how to do so without living up to his original expectations. He is not easily pleased - this I know. But the more I consider the matter, the more afraid I am of the life he wishes me to have. Can he not take me as I am? Am I not strong enough or brave enough or powerful enough or loyal enough for him? Does he want perfection? That is what I fear he wants and that is why I fear I can never please him. For what is perfection? Just a feeble excuse to exclude everyone. Just a way to make every being in the world feel inferior somehow. Everyone has a fault, a dark secret. There is no perfection. It doesn't exist. It is merely a figment of his imagination, a fabrication of his cold and avaricious heart.

I glance at the clock: 6:30. _I suppose I should get up_, I think as I slowly throw back the covers. I pull on my bathrobe and head to the bathroom. Soon, I have the shower warming up, everything ready to go. I get in and stand there, letting the water pour over me, easing my nervousness and calming me. I think back on last night; I can't recall most of it. All I remember is those final questions, those final words, those final looks...Then I start to remember some of it as I slowly become more awake and alert: conversations about Quidditch, a cupcake being shoved in Ron's face, talk of the mounting deaths in the wizarding community…

I get out of the shower and get ready for the day – our second day of classes. I look at my schedule. I groan audibly when I see that I have double Herbology today. I have never liked the subject. The only plants I like are those I don't have to study. However, I am mildly pleased with the prospect of having Charms first. _Charms cannot be too difficult_, I think as I put on my tie. _I'll be able to breeze through that class_. Maybe my confidence is a little high and inflated, but perhaps that can only help. I am quite excited about Divinations. From what Harry and Ron told me, the professor is a fraud, but I will hold my judgment until I see for myself. Besides, it is not the professor that really matters - it's whether or not you actually have the patience, the energy, and the calmness of mind, spirit, and body for it - in other words, the Inner Eye (which is just a name to describe these characteristics).

I hear Hermione stir and, to avoid any awkward conversations about last night, I quickly grab my things and head off to breakfast. On my way down the stairs between the fourth and third floors, I look down to sift through my satchel when it occurs to me that I may have forgotten something. In that short instant, I run right into someone. There are utterances of surprise from both of us as I lose my balance and start to topple down the stairs. A hand catches me as I fall and it seems to be the hand of the other victim of this hallway accident. I grasp the rail as I regain my balance and look up to see none other than Draco Malfoy.

"Oh, it's you," we both say simultaneously. He glares down at me from a step or two above mine, no doubt remembering our meeting on the train.

"Watch where you're going next time, Gerwin," he says, making his accusation clear. I return his annoyed glare.

"Well maybe if you weren't so busy fawning over yourself in the mirror constantly, you might have seen me and been able to move out of my way." I turn to leave him standing there, but his words stop me in my tracks.

"At least _I _have something good to look at when I look in the mirror."

I turn to face him again. "Am I supposed to take offense at that?" He merely shrugs.

"It was meant that way. But I suppose if you wish to disregard it, I can't stop you. That may be your only redeeming quality."

This time it is I who is at a loss for words. I open my mouth several times, but no words come. I eventually give up trying and consider it a lost cause.

"Piss off, Malfoy," I say, annoyed by my loss for words and his cauldron full of them. I hurry off to breakfast, his triumphant laugh ringing in my ears. When I reach the sparsely populated Great Hall, I don't bother sitting down. I grab a stack of buttered toast and a napkin and leave for the school grounds. Maybe the fresh air will calm me down and do me some good.

The air is brisk and cool, too much so for the close of summer. But ever since my father's return to power and his alliance with the dementors of Azkaban, the dementors have been multiplying, covering all of England with a cold mist, and a dark atmosphere has taken hold of many places.

I walk over the green, dew-covered carpet that seems to flow over the grounds like a great river in the wind. My feet soon carry me to the lake. I lean against a tree and slowly eat the toast I have brought.

What a strange life I have led. A vampire for a mother; a Dark Lord for a father. My own family's history as mysterious as the pyramids of Egypt. I have studied magic every waking moment of my existence, except when I was playing Quidditch and enjoying the exhilaration it brings. My father has put such expectations on me that I can barely breathe for the weight of it. Yet even still, I am happy. Even with war raging around me, I can smile with the knowledge that I am making my father proud. With every spell I perfect, every potion I master, I prove more and more my worth to him. As long as he is happy with me, I can be happy with myself, too. I know he won't be truly satisfied with me until I can live up to his original expectations, but unless he complains aloud to me, I will not let the fact that I am not quite there dampen my spirits.

The only things I wish I could suppress many times are my emotions. They are so troublesome. Anger only gets me into trouble. Fear hinders my efforts to accomplish anything. Joy and satisfaction make me blind and overconfident. Hate always comes back to haunt me. And love...well, love is too confusing and too dangerous for me to allow it to overtake me...

Draco's Pov:

"Piss off, Malfoy," she says, sounding quite annoyed. I laugh as she walks off. She is an interesting character, no doubt.

I smile with the knowledge that I just achieved some semblance of revenge for how she humiliated me on the train. That was completely uncalled for and most uncivilized. What did I ever do to her? I never even met her until two days ago. Maybe my father is to blame. After all, she did mention knowing him or something like that. I'll have to ask him next time I see him. Or maybe I'll just write him. I am already on my way to the owlery to send a report to the Dark Lord on what is going on here at Hogwarts. That would be easier, certainly.

Perhaps she has some sort of celebrity complex like Potter and thinks she's too good for even a hot pureblood like me. I can't believe Gryffindor got her. Now they have a professional on their team. There has to be some rule against that somewhere. Of course, if she was on Slytherin's team, I wouldn't be complaining, nor would I be worried about breaking any rules. But let's face it! I'm a Slytherin and this is _Gryffindor_ we're talking about. What a bunch of wimps and teachers pets those Gryffindors are. I hate every single one of them...well, all but _one_. _She _is different than the others. I don't have much consequential evidence, but I just know somehow. It will be interesting to see how she gets along here.

I reach the owlery and call a small brown owl down to me. The smaller and darker it is the less it will be noticed. I tie my letter onto the owl's leg and whisper the address to it. It flies off into the morning mist, taking the Dark Lord my message. It was a normal dispatch for the most part, except for one new piece of information that I think will interest him. It read:

_My Lord,_

_No new activity as of 3 Sept. 1997 at 7:15 A.M._

_Two new faces at the school: a professor and a student - mother and daughter._

_Names: Professor Gerwin (vampire; first name unknown as of this date, but will try to find out ASAP) and Leia Gerwin (Quidditch player; Gryffindor; claims to know Lucius Malfoy)._

_This loyal subject to keep you informed when new information arises._

_Your obedient,_

_DM_

Satisfied that this latest dispatch will reach him without any complications (though most would consider it to be overconfidence what with the Ministry of Magic and the Order prowling about to think a letter will no doubt make it to its destination unhindered and untouched by any other living soul), I pull out a clean piece of parchment from the pocket of my robes and dip my quill in ink. I quickly pen a short note to my father.

_Father,_

_I wonder if you know a certain Leia Gerwin. She has just arrived at Hogwarts and has entered the seventh year - a Gryffindor. She claims to know you. Please forward any information you have or can find on her to me so that I may be better equipped to fulfill my duty to Him._

_Your son,_

_Draco_

I grab another owl and send it off with the letter. Then I head down to breakfast. Crabbe and Goyle haven't arrived yet. _Thank Merlin for small favors!_ I think as I sit down next to Blaise Zabini. He and Tracy Malone are busy chatting so I don't bother saying hello. It's always better if I don't interrupt their conversation. Blaise has had a crush on Tracy for two years now and he only just asked her this summer if she would go out with him. She said 'yes' of course and now they're never out of each other's sight.

"Mornin', Draco," a voice mumbles groggily from my right. I turn and see Crabbe and Goyle sitting down and immediately beginning to stuff themselves. They have to be the biggest idiots I've ever been associated with. But let's face it: they will do anything I ask them to, no questions asked. What more can one ask of such people?

"Morning," I reply, the lack of interest quite obvious in my voice, though they don't seem to notice, as usual.

"So what do you think of the new DADA teacher?" Goyle asks, nudging me in the arm. "Hot stuff, eh?" I grimace.

"Goyle, you are disgusting sometimes, really! She's twice your age," I say as he chuckles. Either he meant to gross me out or he has something else on his mind. The latter is more probable; Goyle never thinks enough to plan anything.

"But I'll bet you think her daughter is hot." He and Crabbe guffaw at this - that is, until I hit Goyle in the back of his head so hard that he falls face first into his oatmeal. Now it is my turn to laugh.

"What makes you think I'd like any mudblood lover?" I say, rather than ask.

"Mudblood lover? Who's a mudblood lover?" someone asks as they sit down across from me. It's Pansy. Damn, can my day get any worse. I don't answer. Maybe if I annoy her enough she'll leave me alone. "Draco, I asked you a question," she whines. I sigh audibly.

"No one, Pansy," I reply with annoyance.

"Well, obviously someone is or else you wouldn't have said anything." She doesn't seem to take the hint: _I don't want to talk about it_. Because I know that if I do, I'll stick my foot in my mouth and say something I'll later regret and - wait a minute! That's it!

"You're right, Pansy," I say matter-of-factly. She looks smug. "We were talking about how hot that new mudblood-loving Gryffindor, Leia Gerwin, is." Pansy makes a face and immediately shuts up and starts to mope. Perfect. That was the result I wanted. Maybe now she'll stop hanging off of me and following me everywhere I go - at least for today. No doubt she'll have forgotten all of this by tomorrow. I used to like her, actually. I liked the fact that she thought of me like a prince or god or something. She practically worshiped the ground I walked on. But as the years rolled by, for her it became a kind of obsession and for me it became an annoyance, like a fly that won't stop buzzing around your ear.

Pansy doesn't speak to me for the rest of breakfast. However, in the case of the two baboons on my right, I am not so lucky. They never shut up - making crude jokes, making fun of the other houses, etc. A really idiotic way to pass the time, if you ask me. And of course they want my opinion on everything. Well, not really my opinion, but more like a semi-appreciative laugh following every stupid joke they make. I don't laugh at some of them and when I don't Crabbe pokes me to get my attention and Goyle tells the joke again and again until I laugh. They have to be the most annoying duo in the school.

Finally it's time for class. Luckily, neither Crabbe nor Goyle is in my first two classes - and neither is Pansy. I quickly leave the Great Hall without a word when it's time to go and head off to Professor Flitwick's Charms class. Charms always seemed to me to be a kind of "fluff" form of magic: not really what you would use in a duel, which makes it almost impractical. House elves can do any housework or cooking that would require charms such as the ones we learn in class.

When I get there I find almost every seat taken. One quick look around and I can see that only three Gryffindors are in this bell (Neville Longbottom, Lavender Brown, and Seamus Finnegan), along with five Ravenclaws (Mandy Brocklehurst, Padma Patil, Lisa Turpin, Anthony Goldstein, and Brian Chambers), four Hufflepuffs (Susan Bones, Hannah Abbot, Megan Jones, and Ernie Macmillan), and three Slytherins (Millicent Bulstrode, Blaise Zabini, and I). Notice that there are mostly girls here, Like I said before: "fluff magic".

I sit down in one of two empty seats in the back corner of the room (both of which are right next to each other). The bell is just about to ring to signal the start of class when someone comes rushing into the room, sounding as though they are out of breath. I look up and see Leia Gerwin walking over to sit next to me. I immediately think how odd it is that she would choose to sit by me when there are other seats open, but then I remember that _there are no other seats open_. I smirk as she sits down. She looks like she sprinted to class. She looks over at me and glares.

"Wipe that smirk off your face, Malfoy, before I do it for you," she snaps, annoyed.

"Feisty this morning, aren't we?" I say in a mocking tone.

"I'd watch out if I were you," she replies with the same tone as before. "I'm quite tempted to cut out your tongue right now. Don't press your luck." I consider responding, but think better of it as Professor Flitwick calls the class to order. He briefly explains the charm we will be reviewing today - the cheering charm - and then he pairs us up to practice. As luck would have it, Gerwin and I are partnered together. She turns to me and sighs audibly.

"We should start then," she says, sounding tired and preoccupied.

"It might do you some good," I observe, much to both her surprise and mine. She raises one eyebrow and gives me a slight smirk.

"Aww, Draco," she coos mockingly, "I didn't think you cared so much about me." I punch her lightly in the shoulder and she laughs. When I don't say anything, she pulls out her wand. "Let's get started." I nod. I pull out my own wand.

"You first," I say, wanting to get it over with. "You _do_ know what you're doing, right?"

"Really, Draco, I'm insulted," she says in a hurt tone, though the smile on her face tells me otherwise, "don't you trust me?"

"No," I reply, "not really. I've never seen you do any magic before. All I know about you and your magical training is that you have a talent for potions and you know a lot about vampires. I don't think that qualifies you as an expert on cheering charms."

"Touché." She smiles a brilliant smile that nearly knocks me out of my seat. Wow, she's gorgeous. Wait. What am I saying? Did I just say a _Gryffindor_ was gorgeous? I _have_ flipped. I thought being attracted to her was just fluke, a misunderstanding that came about before I knew that she would be one of _them_. But even this knew-found knowledge doesn't seem to have affected my view of her.

Actually, Leia is pretty talented at Charms, too. Her cheering charm leaves me feeling quite elated and confident. Mine, which I executed perfectly, has a similar effect on her. We finish earlier than most of the students, many of whom have forgotten how to do this charm since we learned it at the beginning of last school year. The cheering charms still hovering around us minimize the animosity between us. As we talk about the trivial things in our lives, I begin to wonder if it is possible that we could be friends. I know, I know. She's a Gryffindor, but I am still drawn to her. Maybe she just does that to people. I wouldn't know. I have never met anyone quite like her before. I have known plenty of girls who were attractive and witty and clever, but never any with such alluring qualities as she has.

"So, Leia, what's it like playing on a professional Quidditch team?" I ask.

"It's quite fun and very exciting," she says, her mood brightening even more. She obviously loves Quidditch; either that or she just loves the spotlight. Who knows with celebrities? "But there is a lot of work involved. We usually have a pretty busy schedule."

"Are you still going to play with the Royal Renegades this year, on top of school?"

"Yes, I am. Dumbledore and I are working it out with Russ, the team captain. He's pretty flexible and has already told me that I don't have to make it to every practice. He's going to tell me when I absolutely need to be there and when it is optional - in case conflicts arise."

"Are you going to play on Gryffindor's team then?" I ask, almost dreading the answer.

"I'm planning on it," she replies. "I have to try out first, but I want to. I never miss a chance to play Quidditch." She smiles. "Do you play?"

"Yeah," I say and she looks pleased by the news. "I'm the seeker for Slytherin."

"Seeker? Wow, impressive." She _does_ look impressed. I smirk at the thought. "Although I personally would not want to be a seeker. I much prefer being a chaser," she adds. I nod.

"I couldn't see _myself_ as a chaser," I say.

"I'm glad," she puts in, smiling. I tilt my head in slight surprise.

"Of what?" I ask.

"I'm glad we have at least this much in common without having to be rivals. We can each be proud of our own accomplishments in our positions and we need not compete to see who can best the other."

"I see..."

Flitwick calls for attention, interrupting the conversation. He reminds us of the key elements of the cheering charm, including the fact that it doesn't wear off until an hour or so later. Leia and I have already been under its influence for half an hour. I can still feel it coursing through my veins, a wave of happiness washing over me. It is a strange and alien feeling. But perhaps it is not all to do with the charm.


	12. Chapter 12: Snakes And Roses

**Chapter 12: Snakes And Roses**

Leia's Pov:

I walk with Draco to Divinations class, which I am mildly please (probably because of the charm) to see we have together. A few people turn to stare, but push any ideas about Draco and I from their minds when they see us not speaking. They also take notice of the crowded corridors and realize we can't help being pushed as close as we are.

Their thoughts are opened to me with a simple Legilimens spell. It is quite simple to break through their minor or nonexistent defenses. The human mind is weak, of that much I am certain. Only the most skilled wizards can turn their picket fence into an unbreakable bastion.

We get to top of the North Tower. We are standing under a trap door when we stop. I look at Draco.

"Where is the classroom?" I ask. He points up at the trap door.

"Up there."

"How do we get up there?"

"By a rope ladder," he explains. "Trelawney will let it down soon enough."

"Trelawney?" I frown in confusion. "Is she our professor?"

"Yes," he says. "That's her. Kind of a fraud, if you ask me. But I like the subject too much to leave because of her."

"What do you mean 'a fraud'? How bad is she?"

"Let me put it this way," he replies. "You just have to see for yourself. Professor Trelawney is the type of person you have to _experience_. She is indescribable."

I laugh. "Alright, what ever you say. You know her better than I do."

"Ain't it the truth," he mumbles in an exasperated tone, smiling. I stifle another laugh as the trapdoor opens and a ladder descends. Draco motions for me to follow. Only one other student (a Hufflepuff) is there to follow us. I ask Draco if he knows how many people will be in the class. He informs me that there will not be many, but at least three or four more will be here.

The room is filled with the scent of perfume and incense. I breathe in the sweet aroma as I find a seat next to one of the tower windows. I concentrate best when near or among natural elements. To my surprise, Draco sits next to me.

"Aren't you afraid of being seen with me?" I ask. "I _am _a Gryffindor after all."

"Not at all," he says, smirking and leaning in to whisper in my ear. "I'd be thrilled for people to see me with such a fine looking pureblood."

I am taken aback by his 'pureblood' comment. How does he know - or come to think - that I am a pureblood? I start to ask, "How do -" - but then I remember that he is a Death Eater and knows my mother and consequently would recognize me. Except...I thought my mother went by a different name as a Death Eater. I thought she didn't show her face to many to preserve her secrecy and keep me safe. I remind myself to ask Draco how he knows her, or at least how he comes to think that I am a pureblood. Perhaps I was wrong before about Draco not being surprised to be recognized in our DADA class. Perhaps he was not unsurprised because he knows my mother, but because he is so used to people knowing his father. That would make more sense, certainly.

All of the class (two Hufflepuffs, two Gryffindors - Lavender and Parvati, one Ravenclaw, and Draco and I) is assembled. Everyone is busy talking amongst themselves when Professor Trelawney appears seemingly out of nowhere. Draco was right. She is..._interesting_. A skinny, spindly-looking body; curly, disheveled red hair; huge glasses that magnify her eyes to about three or four times their normal size; a gauzy, spangled shawl about her shoulders; chains and beads interwoven with her dress; and bangles and rings covering her wrists and hands. When she addresses the class her voice is soft and mysterious.

"Good morning, my friends," she says quietly. She sits down in a winged armchair before the fire. "It has been many months since we last saw each other. But I have still kept in touch -" she motions to the orb in front of her. Draco chuckles beside me. I nudge him in the side to get him to shut up. "I see my prediction of the arrival of our new student was indeed correct, as I knew it would be." She stands up and glides over to our table. She looks me in the eyes, hers still magnified by her glasses. "You are quite capable, my dear," she says, "of _seeing_. Of that I am certain. You have a force, an element about you that alerts me to the fact. And you-" She turns to Draco. "You are distracted as always by your surroundings and your attitude. Try to concentrate harder. You may get lucky and see what your next meal will be." She walks back towards her chair, and Draco mutters under his breath, "Crazy old bat." I merely shake my head in slight disapproval; he doesn't see me, thank goodness.

Trelawney hands each of us a book on the more exotic forms of divination, _Divination Unveiled: An Introduction to the Ancient and Unique Ways to Interpret Dreams and Explore the Future_. She instructs us to look through the book and find a form we would like to learn. She then explains that each of us will focus our studies on certain forms of Divination throughout the year. As we learn (and possibly master) each technique, she will help us move on to another. She will instruct each of us personally; and as we are such a small class, she has time to work with us on an individual basis such as this. This way we will learn what we are comfortable with and what we want to learn, rather than following a rigorous class schedule, stressing ourselves out, and "clouding the Inner Eye".

I flip through the book for a time before something catches my eye. I quickly turn down the corner of the page and shut the book. I raise my hand and call for Trelawney. She glides over.

"Yes, dear?" she asks in her misty voice.

"Are these for us to keep for now and return at the end of the year? If not, can I hold onto it for a bit?"

"You may, dear. I actually meant for you to keep them permanently, compliments of Albus Dumbledore, who found them while traveling. He found only these copies and so I kept one for myself and gave the rest to you. Normally in seventh year we cover other things, but this, I think, will be more enlightening for you. After Christmas, we will go over what few new forms of Divination you will be required to know for the N.E.W.T.s." All of this is said in a voice that sounds like both the summer breeze and the winter flurry.

"Thank you, professor."

"No trouble, dear, no trouble at all."

When Professor Trelawney leaves to explain something to Lavender, Draco looks at me incredulously.

"You actually want to keep that?" he asks, pointing to the thick, leather-bound stack of parchment in front of me.

"Yes, _Malfoy_. Unlike you, I do like what I am studying; and I would kindly appreciate it if you kept your nose out of my business." Bloody hell, he's annoying. Obviously the cheering charm is wearing off. We're starting to hate each other again.

Malfoy flips absentmindedly through his book, occasionally pausing to read a description or study of picture with half-hearted interest. I watch him for a few minutes before going back to my own book. I turn back to the page I marked. It was the picture that caught my attention: a ring of candles and in the center of them a bowl of tea leaves and a piece of parchment. It was what was drawn on this piece of parchment that caught my attention, in particular: a budding rose with a serpent curling around it and the words 'In obscurum ego niteo. In obscurum ego cado.'

My hand instinctively moves to the small of my back. There lies the mark. Not the Dark Mark, not my father's mark, but the mark my mother gave me when I was born. Me, the daughter of a vampire, the daughter of the Dark Lord, the daughter of darkness...

I quickly read through the page. It says:

_The Ancient and Unlocking the Past and Future_

_The Ancient was a great seer who lived over 4,000 years ago, hence the name eventually given to her. Her real name was Hekate, named after the Greek Goddess of magic and the night. Her symbol, her family's crest, is that of a snake wrapped around a rose. She used it to mark any predictions or prophecies she made that she later wrote down. Based on the Latin inscription around it, the snake can either be seen as protecting the rose or crushing it. Some say that it is possible to practice divination through her, with her help, and thereby uncover secrets of the past and present, as well as the future. To do this, there is a certain ritual to follow as passed down through the ages._

I don't read any further. The ritual does not concern me at the moment. What concerns me is what is burned into my skin, in much the same way as the Death Eaters are branded with the Dark Mark. Although, I have never, even in this moment, considered _my_ mark - well maybe not _mine_ - a _brand_.

"You ok, Gerwin?" Draco asks leaning forward to glance at the book. I quickly close it, but I can't be sure he didn't see anything.

"Y-yeah, I-" I falter as I try to regain my composure. "I'm fine." But my eyes, no doubt, give me away. They are still staring, wide-open, at the book. At least I think to move my hand away from my back. "What's it to you anyway?" I add in as annoyed a tone as I can manage. Draco backs off and glares.

"Relax, Gerwin. I was only commenting on the startled look you had plastered across your face."

"Well, next time you feel like commenting, keep it to yourself." Needless to say, we don't speak to each other, or anyone else for that matter, for the rest of the class. The only words that come out of my mouth are those that inform Professor Trelawney that I would like to first study divination through candles. I pick it at random, though it does interest me now that I read more about it. Anything to get me away from Hekate and that mark...

When the bell finally rings, I quickly gather my things and hurry to Herbology without acknowledging Malfoy - not even a tiny insult to leave behind. By the time I reach the green houses, I am out of breath and my hair is so windswept it is sticking out in more directions than I care to count. I run my fingers through it, but I can't tell if it helps at all.

I am the first one here, which surprises me as I just came from the North Tower, seven floors up and on the other side of the castle. But then again - I did _run_ all the way here. I would have made it here in plenty of time if I had walked, but I wanted to get away from that stuffy room and that book with the mark of Hekate.

I suddenly stiffen up. I still have the book, I realize. I look to the clock tower and see that I still have five minutes until class starts. I make up my mind quickly and run back to the school. I hurriedly search for a broom closet or something of the like and spot one right in the entrance hall. There are no students around, but I can here several coming down from the first floor. I throw open the door and shove the book under a crate in the far corner and hurry back to the green houses.

That book makes me nervous. Well, not the book exactly - more like what's _in _the book. That page...that ritual...that picture...that mark... I shudder. My hand moves once again to the small of my back and this time it feels as though my own mark is burning beneath my fingers. I never considered that this mark I bear upon my skin could ever be connected to anything or anyone, let alone some Greek Goddess. What was my mother thinking when she burns this symbol into my skin? Did she have a purpose in her action? Did she mean for me to ever know what truth lay inside the black outlines? Is there anything to it at all or do I just have an overactive imagination? Why does the prospect of a connection between my mark and Hekate's trouble me so? Why do I have such a foreboding mist hovering over my heart?


	13. Chapter 13: Poltergeists And Quaffles

**Chapter 13: Poltergeists And Quaffles**

Leia's Pov:

Herbology is finally over. As is lunch, Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, and Care of Magical Creatures. Both Harry and Ron were in my Herbology class, and Hermione was in my Ancient Runes class and my Arithmancy class. All interesting classes, certainly, but not very exciting when compared to Care of Magical Creatures. The professor, who insists we call him Hagrid, not Professor (though many still do), is the same man I saw yesterday with the hippogriff, Buckbeak.

He opened the class with a quick overview of the types of creatures he wanted to cover with us this year - "all with Dumbledore's approval," of course. The list included anything one could think of from bowtruckles to the giant squid that lives in the lake. It'll be an adventure into uncharted waters, literally.

I quickly stash my books in the dorm and head down to dinner. Harry is the only one there. I sit down next to him and start eating.

"Hi, Leia," he says, smiling.

"Hi, Harry." I take a sip of pumpkin juice, only returning the smile half-heartedly. "Any news on the try-outs yet?"

"Oh, yeah, I meant to tell you earlier. I've booked the pitch for Saturday, 8:00 to noon."

"Sounds good to me," I say, not really caring right now. I only asked for conversation, not because I wanted to know. It could have waited another day.

"Do you know where Ron and Hermione are?" he asks after a minute or so of silence.

"I thought you'd know."

"I haven't seen either of them since Herbology." He frowns into his soup. "I wonder where they could be."

I don't answer. My thoughts have drifted back to the divination book and the aged parchment - the mark of Hekate...My mother must have had a reason for using that symbol. Perhaps she felt a personal connection to Hekate, or maybe she was just a fan of mythology. I don't know, but I'm going to find out. I'll check out the library after dinner, and then maybe I can find some answers. I wish things could be clearer; there are too many myster-

"Leia, are you alright?" Harry gets my attention.

"Yes," I snap, annoyed that he interrupted my train of thought, "why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, you haven't been acting like yourself today."

"And how would you know what "my self" is even like? You've only known me for two days!" I shout. Harry seems to be taken aback by my outburst.

"I just meant that you seem to be a little distracted and under the weather, that's all," he says defensively. "I meant nothing by it. I certainly didn't mean to assume more about you than I know." I sigh heavily.

"Sorry, Harry. I'm just preoccupied, that's all." I stand up just as Ron and Hermione show up. "I have some business to attend to. I'll see you later, okay?"

"Sure." I feel his gaze upon me as I leave. I sneak a quick glance back at the Gryffindor table. He is still watching me with a look of concern. I sigh once more and turn to find the library.

I wander the empty corridors for ten minutes without a single trace of the library. I can't even find another living soul to ask. I begin to wonder whether the school even has a library, and I consider heading back to dinner when suddenly I feel something small and sharp hit the back of my head.

"Ow!" I shout, spinning around and rubbing the back of my head. A quick glance around shows me that no one is there. But that's impossible! How else could something hit my head _inside the castle_ if someone didn't throw it?

Before I can calm down, I feel another object hit my head, and another. I look down and see bits of chalk lying on the stone floor. My eyes glance upward and quickly scan the ceiling. There I see a poltergeist. I immediately begin to curse his very existence as he laughs hysterically at his own prank.

"Damn you," I mutter one last time. He finally stops laughing and looks down at me, smiling mischievously as he floats across the ceiling.

"Is this wittle Gerwin? Wittle baby Gerwin? The vampire's daughter?" he asks in a mocking tone. I glare at him.

"What's it to you?" I snap, not in the mood for harassment. Any other day I would join in the teasing and the banter, but I'm too focused and too preoccupied today with other matters.

"Feisty wittle vampire baby, aren't you?"

I don't answer him. I just turn around and continue my search for the library, hoping he will leave me alone and go bother someone else. But all my hope is in vain I realize when I hear his annoying voice behind me.

"What is the wittle vampire baby doing? Getting into twouble? Is Peevesy going to have to call old Filch on her?"

I turn around to stare at him with a puzzled expression.

"Peeves, is it? Tell me, Peeves, are you always this annoying or do you just like harassing the new students?"

He let's out a soft chuckle and does a few flips in the air before answering.

"Peevesy likes to bug all students and teachers. It's his favorite hobby!"

"I can see that, yes," I say, and I make to leave again when I get an idea. "Hey, Peeves?"

"Yes?" he says, eyeing me suspiciously.

"Do you think you could stop this annoying streak for a few minutes and help me find the library?"

"Why does the wittle vampire need to find the library? Peevesy wonders, oh yes, he does."

"I just need to look up something…for school. You know, like how to…cast a spell to turn a classmate into newt." I give him a wink. "You know how it is: not enough excitement in school these days." I copy his mischievous smile and he chuckles again.

"Another trouble-maker like myself, eh?"

I nod. "There are still a few of us left in this world, Peeves." He smiles and floats down the hall in the opposite direction of where I was headed. I hurry after him, hoping my deception worked enough to make it to the library without any more delays. He leads me up two more flights of stairs and down three corridors. Eventually I find myself at the doorway of what is obviously a library. Amazing! The poltergeist came through for me. That was a little unexpected. But then I notice that the door is closed. I try the knob but it's locked.

"Damn," I mutter. I look up at Peeves, who is still lingering next to me. "Is the library always closed this time of night?"

"No, no," he says, smirking. "She's not ready for business."

"Come again?"

"She doesn't want wittle firsties messing up her books."

I tilt my head, puzzled and unsure of what to say.

"Hmm..." I stand there debating what to do next. Eventually, I decide to give it up as a lost cause and head back to the dormitory. Peeves floats off, laughing hysterically at something I am unaware of. I shrug my shoulders and walk off to Gryffindor tower, still pondering the mystery of Hekate's mark.

_Saturday, September 7, Early Morning_

I awake to the sound of an alarm clock. I curse its owner for several minutes until I realize it's mine. I feel around for the button and reset it, groaning as I get up. At first I cannot remember why I had to get up, but as I look around the room and notice that no one else is getting up, it comes to me. The Quidditch try-outs are today!

I run to the shower and finish up in the bathroom as quick as possible. I then race to my trunk and pull on my Quidditch practice uniform from the Royal Renegades. Then I grab my broom, a Platinum Series Firebolt (the latest model), and hurry down to the Great Hall to grab some breakfast. I don't stop to eat much; I just grab some toast and eat it as I walk to the Quidditch pitch. The try-outs aren't until 8 o'clock, but I want to warm up first. I haven't flown since a week before I came here.

I find the pitch without too much trouble. There is no one there when I get onto the pitch. Thank goodness. I like my privacy when I fly this early.

I mount my Firebolt and kick off from the ground. The wind whips through my hair; the brisk morning air cools my face. I shoot toward the clouds and circle around the pitch high above the ground. The feeling of freedom I get from flying makes me wish I could stay this high above the world forever. No one to judge you, no one to obey, no one to lead, no one to fuss over you, no one at all...

After flying around the pitch for some time, practicing plays I learned while playing for the Renegades, I look across the grounds, the vast expanse of green and mist, and find the clock tower. It is almost eight.

I tilt my Firebolt forward and dive for the grass below, falling faster and faster as gravity weighs me down. The exhilaration it always brings me to come so close to injury and then snatch life out of its claws calms me and gives me a sense of accomplishment and with it peace.

Once on the ground, I walk over to a bench on the edge of the pitch and sit down to wait for the others. I can hear them coming down the grassy hill now. As I sit, checking my Firebolt for problems (although it never has any, I always feel better checking), a group of students slowly trickles onto the field – some from all years, including a few I know.

About five minutes after eight, I spot Harry coming towards me. I stand up and meet him half way.

"Ready for the try-outs, Leia?" he asks, smiling. I can see the confidence shining in his eyes. I return the gesture.

"I think so," I sigh. "When do we start?"

"In five minutes. I want to give everyone a chance to get here."

Eventually, we get started. Harry has us do some drills first with the quaffle. Then comes my favorite part of it all. The current Gryffindor team, short two chasers, splits up into two teams. Harry has asked the Hufflepuff team to fill in for the other players needed. They don't seem to mind at all. I certainly wouldn't.

Those trying out cycle through as the chasers, with one Gryffindor chaser to work with. The Hufflepuff chasers act as the opposition. I am in the last pair to play. A young girl, in fourth year, named Helen Mathews, kicks off from the ground with me. I shoot up much faster than she does and I can hear the shouts of excitement from the Gryffindor team. I smile and circle around to catch the quaffle when Ginny is forced to drop it as one of the Hufflepuffs flies at her. I then toss the quaffle to Helen, who is directly above me. I fly straight up and just as I reach five feet above her I drop it and she takes it down the pitch and scores.

We play for ten minutes. Helen scores 15 goals; I score 23. As I pass Harry, who is hovering above the game and watching since he hasn't let loose the snitch (after all there is no reason to), he expresses his pleasure and he seems quite impressed. I execute several plays I learned with the Renegades, calling them to Helen and Ginny as we go. Helen is quite good, also, and the three of us work well together.

After the try-outs are over, Harry and I walk back to the castle for lunch. Helen, Ginny, and Ron (who is the keeper) follow close behind. Most of the others have retired to their showers, beds, and lunch already. Harry is busy eyeing my broom.

"What type of broom is that, Leia?" he asks.

"A Platinum Series Firebolt."

His eyes light up. "Wow..." he breathes. Ginny laughs as Ron's jaw drops to the ground.

"Boys." She rolls her eyes and smiles at Helen. "You'll get used to it. These two have a major obsession with Quidditch." Helen smiles back nervously. Ron jogs up to my other side.

"Where did you get it?" he asks enviously.

"Every member of the Royal Renegades has one. They gave them to us right after they made them. We have the only ones that exist in the world, except the one they're using as a sort of prototype."

"No way! The only ones in existence? How can a person get so lucky?" Harry exclaims.

"A broom maker in England improved the Firebolt and then negotiated to sell it only to us. They will be circulated among the other international teams and the general public (those who can afford them) some time in December."

"I wish I could have one," Ron mumbles, a depressed tone in his voice. I wrap my arm around his shoulder and smile at him.

"Well, Ron, unfortunately I couldn't afford to buy myself one, nor can I afford to buy you one. But I would be delighted to let you fly it anytime." His eyes light up and he nods.

"Yeah, I'd love that!"

Ginny laughs again. "Leia, tell me something: are you as crazy about Quidditch as these two are?"

"Probably," I reply. "I haven't seen too much of their obsession yet, but I have no doubt we're pretty similar." She shakes her head and Helen giggles at her side. I turn to Harry. "So when do we know who made the team?"

"Actually, I already know who I want on the team," he says. "I'll post the names officially tonight in the Common Room, but I can tell you now who I've chosen." I hear Helen's intake of breath. I can empathize with her; I felt that same sense of nervousness when I was about to be told whether I could officially play on the Renegades' team.

Flashback, Leia's Pov:

_I pace back and forth in the kitchen, waiting for my name to be called from the other room. I have always dreamed of playing professional Quidditch, but I never thought the chance would come this early, if at all. I am twelve years old, _twelve_, and they are thinking of recruiting me. The Royal Renegades, the greatest team in all England!_

_I ponder for a time and try to come up with reasons as to why they would want a twelve year old. All I remember of that fateful day is that I was playing Quidditch with some friends of mine in an open field near the Renegades' practice pitch when one of the players for the Renegades came over to watch us. It appears they've singled me out; that player must have seen something I've never noticed before, some strength or talent that would merit my acceptance on such a prestigious team._

Back To Present, Leia's Pov:

As we walk and I dwell on memories long since gone, I remember something Hermione said to me a day or so ago when Ron, Harry, and I were discussing my Quidditch career.

_"You joined as a twelve-year-old? That's a little strange for a professional Quidditch team, wouldn't you agree? I should think they'd have picked someone closer to their own ages than that, like everybody else."_

_"Yes, well," I reply, "since when have the Renegades _ever_ gone by the book?"_

Harry is pausing for an especially long time. (I'm assuming for dramatic effect.) Finally, he tells us that the new chasers for the Gryffindor team are going to be: Helen and I. Helen shrieks with giddy, girlish excitement. I laugh and sigh in relief. Even when I know I'll be fine I still freak out about try-outs and games (any public appearance really).

While Ginny congratulates Helen on a job well done, a wave of excitement rushes over me. Now I will be able to continue playing Quidditch and getting in practice time even when I cannot meet with the Renegades. If no one's noticed already how much I love Quidditch, they do the second I shriek and fling my arms around Harry, hugging him tightly and thanking him, telling him I'll 'love' him forever for putting me on the team. He laughs and congratulates me, saying it was all because of my talent and that I didn't need to thank him.

We get up to the castle and immediately go to lunch. Showers can wait fifteen minutes - we're starving and lunch is almost over.


	14. Chapter 14: Saturday Spies

**Chapter 14: Saturday Spies**

Draco's Pov:

Saturday. The best day. Sleep in late. No homework to worry about. No school at all. Not a care in the world...

"Drakie Poo!"

_Damn. Who is shouting like that at this hour? Do they have a death wish?_

"Draco," the voice whines, "get up already."

"Goway," I mumble into the pillow.

"Drakie Poo, you promised," she says in that same annoying whine. I cringe under the sheets. _What was it I promised her?_ Then it hits me like a brick.

"Can't I sleep a bit longer, Pansy?"

"No, Draco, you promised."

"Then get the hell out so I can get dress," I growl. She hurries out of the room, but not without adding her own snide remark.

"Somebody's grouchy this morning."

"Yeah," I add softly to the closed door, "I _am _a little unhappy, and it's all your fault, bitch."

"You're only _a little_ unhappy, Draco?" a voice pipes up from the bed next to mine. "That's got to be the understatement of the century." I throw my pillow at Blaise as he laughs hysterically. "So what did you promise her?"

I let out a huge sigh. "The other day she wanted to try out my Nimbus 2001 - just to see what it was like flying it, I guess. But I told her she couldn't fly it unless she knew how to fly a broom in the first place. She never did pass flying lessons our first year here. I was hoping she would give it up as a lost cause, but I don't have that kind of luck. She begged me to teach her today and I agreed just to shut her up." I frown as I comb out my pale blonde hair. "I am _not_ looking forward to this."

"Is she really that bad?" Blaise asks, smirking.

"She's worse than the Weasel," I chuckle, referring to the youngest Weasley son. _Ron, isn't it? Or Lon - something like that, _I think, but then I shrug. _Forget it,_ I tell myself. _It's not worth the effort remembering._

"Don't get yourself killed, Draco," Blaise says. "If you do, you won't be able to serve the Dark Lord anymore," he adds with a smirk and a laugh.

"I don't have that kind of luck."

I finish getting dressed and walk as slowly as possible down the stairs. Eventually I make it to the Common Room where Pansy is anxiously waiting. The second she catches sight of me, she leaps up and grabs hold of my hand, dragging me through the door and into the dungeon corridor.

"Draco, you move too slow," she whines. I glare at the ceiling and take a deep breath. This is going to be a _loooong_ day.

"Pansy, get off of my arm!" I snap. She lets go, but not without a shocked look followed by that pout she thinks will make me warm up to her. Yeah, right. Not likely.

We get to the Quidditch stadium and, looking up above the stands, I see the Gryffindor team having what looks to be try-outs. Pansy groans in annoyance.

"Stupid Gryffindors. Now I'll never get to try the Firebolt."

I smirk to myself and wipe the smirk away before Pansy sees. For once I am glad to see a Gryffindor. I don't dare tell Pansy that the old Quidditch pitch is still available - it's just a mile or so behind this one. Hopefully she won't remember it even exists.

"Sorry, Pansy." I fake an apologetic tone and expression. "We'll just have to try again some other time." I don't suggest any certain time this time around, hoping I can use it as an excuse later. Pansy pouts some more.

"Can't you jinx them or something, Draco?"

"No, Pansy. We'd get into serious trouble - especially since one of the people flying up there is our DADA professor's daughter." I add this last bit in immediately after I notice Leia make an amazing and difficult pass to another player - a young girl, most likely fourth year or third. As we stand there, I watch Leia score a few goals and play a great game. She works well with the Weasel girl and the younger one. They make a good team, I must admit. Although, as pleased as I am to see some real talent on one of the House teams, I really wish she could have been on ours. Then we wouldn't need to cheat to beat Gryffindor. Pansy heaves a heavy sigh beside me.

"Fine. Let's go." She stomps off toward the castle without even waiting for my response. I take the opportunity to climb a nearby tree in the hopes of escaping her company for the day. She's nice and all, pretty too, but she's not my type. She can be clingy at times, too. I think that above all else is what turns me off. I like being able to say, "I want to be alone," and actually getting to be alone. With her I never know if she's going to let me be or refuse to do so.

When she gets about twenty feet off, she turns around and darts her eyes across the grounds, looking for me.

"Draco?" she calls. "Draco?" Again, but this time in a more frantic tone. "Where'd you go?" I feel a twinge of guilt for ditching her, but I remain on the branch. I shouldn't just leave her worrying though.

"I'm taking care of some unavoidable business," I shout, throwing my voice so that it sounds as though it is coming from the bushes. "Go on ahead. I'll catch up with you later." It wasn't a total lie, anyway. I _will_ catch up with her later, and I do have some business to attend to. As she walks back to the castle, sulking over this interruption of her plans, I pull an envelope out of my pocket. It came during the night, but I was too tired to read it then. Now I glance at it and recognize my father's handwriting.

_Son,_

_That surname is unknown to us. The Dark Lord may know something of that family (for he seemed pleased by your letter about their arrival at Hogwarts), but no one dares to ask him. If this is part of a plan of his, he will inform us in due time. Keep a watchful eye on both of them and keep Him informed as though they are two complete strangers. That may be why he hasn't told us of them, if he knows of them, so as to keep our reports as complete as possible._

_Remember your duties,_

_Father_

Folding the letter back up, I make ready to climb out of the tree. But the sound of laughter stops me. I peer down through the leaves and branches to see none other than Potter and his band of freaks. Gerwin is among them. _So she may be part of the Dark Lord's plan, eh? I wonder if she is on our side or theirs, _I think as they pass by without knowing I sit watching. They seem to be discussing the try-outs. Suddenly, Gerwin leaps into Potter's arms and shrieks with joy. I'm guessing she made the team.

For reasons unbeknownst to me, my face gets hot with what could be anger or jealousy as she hugs Potter. But what reason have I to be jealous? What do I care if she hugs Potter? I think she can do much better than him, but that doesn't mean I think that better someone should be me.

After they have gone, I get down from the tree and make my way to the castle. I sit down at the Slytherin table and shovel down some food in the last ten minutes of lunch.


	15. Chapter 15: Food Fights Aren't Standard

**Chapter 15: Food Fights Aren't Standard Procedure In The Spy Business**

Leia's Pov:

I wake up the next morning, feeling rested and happy. I am so glad I made the team. Now I can continue playing so I don't get out of practice for my games with the Renegades. I climb out of bed and into the shower. When the normal morning rituals are over, I head downstairs to the commons in jeans and a fitted green T-shirt.

I plop down in one of the puffy armchairs by the fire and pull out a book. I start to read, but the sight of a book reminds me of the one I left behind Friday on my way to Herbology...that Divination book. I may not like it - it may make me nervous and uneasy to think of it - but I should go and get it from that broom closet. Perhaps I can actually find out more about it now that I am more calm and relaxed.

My decision made, I leave the commons and go down to the Entrance Hall. While I'm there, I go into the Great Hall and grab some breakfast. After I eat some toast and gulp down a glass of orange juice, I go to the broom cupboard. And there it is in the back corner, just as I left it. I walk towards it cautiously, although I know it won't jump out at anything or me. I pick it up and stow it away in my satchel and leave the closet with the intention of going to the library for some research (I might as well since I've got nothing better to do). But as I am leaving I run into something, or _someone_ I should say. I seem to be making a habit of it. I look up into the eyes of a girl who looks to be about my age. Her short, styled, black hair (sort of a punk-rocker style) moves as though a breeze were acting on it as she laughs and apologizes for bumping into me.

"Nonsense," I reply, "it is I who should apologize. I'm the one who wasn't paying attention as I came out of the broom cupboard."

She laughs. "What were you doing in _there_?"

"I left something there the other day. I came to retrieve it."

"Do you do this often?"

My brow furrows. "Do what? You mean leave things in random broom closets?"

"Yeah," she says, laughing. I smile.

"Unfortunately for gossip circles, no. I am pretty normal when it comes to where I store my belongings. This was a fluke."

"What's your name?" she asks, her dark eyes shining with amusement.

"Leia," I say, holding out my hand. She shakes it.

"I'm Isabella. You're that new girl, aren't you?"

"Yes, I'm a transfer student."

"Really, from where?"

"Home," I say simply. She looks puzzled.

"Home?" she asks with a quizzical brow.

"I was home-schooled," I say with a shrug. She nods and grins.

"Seventh year, right?" she asks.

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"You look like a seventh-year. You're confident, too. No younger student is that secure when talking to students older than them, or, for that matter, any student they are not acquainted with."

"You must be a seventh-year, as well." It's a statement, not a question. She nods.

"So, what are you up to today?" she asks, shoving her hands in her jean pockets and leaning against the wall.

"I was heading to the library when I ran into you."

"Hmm, the library..." She pauses for a few seconds. "I've been meaning to stop by all this week. Can I tag along?"

"Sure," I say, laughing softly. "No problem. I just hope I'm not too boring of company for you."

"No, not at all. I have a feeling that even if you're busy researching the mathematics of the levitation spell, you'll still be able to talk up a storm."

I laugh quite loudly and have to cover my mouth to stifle it in the echoing Entrance Hall. "You can read minds," I tell her. "How else could you know me so well with only light introductions?"

"No," she says with a smile and a shrug, "I just have a keen sense, an instinct I guess, about personalities. It has come in handy many times."

I shake my head in only slight disbelief as we turn to go up the stairs to the library.

"So, what house are you in?" I ask her.

"Ravenclaw..." She pauses next to a portrait in the corridor and stairs at it as she trails off. I look at the portrait. The woman in it is, as a nameplate states, Helga Hufflepuff. But something isn't right with this particular painting, apparently. Otherwise, why would Isabella be staring at it with such a confused expression? "It's gone," she breathes. I am about to ask what, but I am cut off by Helga's own response.

"Yes, he took it," she says from her painting, placing her hand on her chest. Is she talking about a necklace of some sort?

"What's that in it's place?" Isabella asks. Helga moves her hand to reveal a pendant hanging from a silver chain. It is...no, it can't be. The Dark Mark. Isabella gasps and I furrow my brow in confusion. Who was the 'he' the portrait mentioned? What is the Dark Mark doing around her neck?

"He left it to replace my locket," the portrait says softly.

"Who?" I ask. She turns to me.

"Do I know you?" she asks.

"I don't think so, but who took your locket?"

"I swear I've seen you before..." She stares at me, but she doesn't answer my question. "Or...someone who looks like you..." I tilt my head in confusion. "Perhaps I'm mistaken," she finally says. I decide to give up on asking her about the thief. Isabella makes a comment under her breath, something about telling Dumbledore, before turning to leave. I turn to follow, but we're both stopped in our tracks when the portrait of Helga Hufflepuff cries out, "Him! You look like him!" I whip around and stare wide-eyed up at her.

"Who?" I ask again, afraid of the answer I might get.

"The one who stole my locket. You have his hands, his nose, his _eyes_." She stops talking, but she doesn't stop staring. My mind races with the only logical thought: _my father_. But that doesn't make any sense at all! What would he care about a portrait? Is he trying to make a statement, send some sort of message? If he is, he needs to be a lot clearer, that is, if he ever expects anyone to get the message and actually understand it. Isabella stares at me as though she has suddenly seen, well, a ghost. I decide to speak before anyone gets any crazy ideas into their heads, though, knowing my luck, I'm probably too late for that.

"Isabella, I think we need to see Dumbledore now." She nods, but doesn't say anything. We hurry away from Helga's portrait and make our way to Dumbledore's office. Isabella doesn't speak to me at all as we walk. When we get there, she gives a statue the password and it leaps aside to let us up a winding stair. I don't ask how she knows the password. I assume it has to do with her natural ability to read personalities. I suppose it could help a person think of the kinds of passwords someone might use, but then again I could be wrong. It wouldn't be the first time.

Isabella knocks on the door and a friendly voice invites us in. I am last through the door and I take an opportunity to look around. The office is full of interesting magical objects and fancy portraits and many books. They cover tabletops, walls, the floor. _Dumbledore has quite a collection_, I think to myself as we sit down on the opposite side of his desk, where he is busy pouring over some papers. When we are settled, he looks up and puts down his work.

"Can I help you, ladies?" he asks. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"No thanks, professor," Isabella says shakily.

"You look troubled," he observes. "Is there something bothering you?"

"You could say that," I respond. He smiles warmly.

"What seems to be the problem?"

"Well," Isabella begins, "we were on our way to the library when I noticed out of the corner of my eye that there was something wrong with the portrait."

"Which one?" Dumbledore asks.

"The one of Helga Hufflepuff on the second floor. The silver locket was missing and in its place was a pendant. It was the Dark Mark." Dumbledore's expression becomes quite serious at the mention of my father's sign. "The portrait said a man took it. She said it was someone who looked like Leia here." Both of them turn to look at me.

"What? I didn't do anything." I become slightly defensive - an instinct.

"I know that," Dumbledore says, but he doesn't look any less worried. The room becomes deathly silent. "I'll look into it," Dumbledore finally says. "You two may go." He smiles again as he dismisses us. I get up to leave, but Isabella hesitates. "If you want, I can inform the two of you if I find out anything that will ease your minds." There is laughter in his eyes.

"Somehow that doesn't comfort me," I reply. "Either you are not going to tell us what you find out because it won't be something that will make us feel better about the whole situation, or you will tell us and it will only give us more worries. Either way, that offer doesn't sound promising." He laughs.

"Your point is noted," he says, chuckling. "Now, return to your business, you two. I'll handle this." We both turn to leave, but he stops us just as we reach the door. "Oh, and not a word of this to anyone," he says, his face returning to its grim state. We nod and head out. Isabella doesn't say a word as we continue to the library. Finally, I can't stand the silence any longer. I stop dead and turn to face her.

"How long are you going to not talk to me with that scared look on your face? I had nothing to do with that locket." I glare at her and she shrinks, but doesn't hesitate in responding.

"You anger easily," she says in a barely audible tone. I fold my arms and frown.

"Did your sixth sense instincts tell you that or was it my abrupt confrontation?"

"A little of both," she says, walking past me, but not so fast that I can't keep up. She's not running, but rather getting us moving again.

"Well, now that we've gotten that out of the way, are you going to answer my question?"

"I know you had nothing to do with the locket," she says. "What concerns me is your apparent likeness to the one who did." I don't respond to her statement. I'm afraid of what she'll say next. "I mean, it could be coincidence."

"What could be coincidence?"

"You looking like the thief." She drops her voice as we enter the library. "However, I know nothing of your parents or their current occupations." She sits down at a small table in the back of the library. "They aren't Death Eaters, are they?"

I smile, glad for a question I can answer with some honesty. "If they were, I certainly wouldn't tell you. But as it stands, my father is not, nor has he ever been, a Death Eater. As for my mother..." I walk to the nearest bookshelf and browse through the titles. "She's the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor." I conveniently leave out her other occupation. A book catches my attention. It looks like what I've been searching for. "Ah." I pull it out and go back to the table, ignoring Isabella's puzzled expression. "Isabella, tell me, do you know much about mythology or other similar old tales?" I ask, my tone of voice reminding me of those interrogations I've seen in Muggle movies.

"N-no," she replies, hesitating. I glance into her thoughts with Legilimency and see I have thrown her off with my question. Apparently she was expecting more from me. Either that or she is still wary of me in light of this morning's events.

"Damn." I open the book to the index and run my finger down the pages, the worn parchment passing roughly against my skin.

"What exactly are you looking for?" she asks.

"I'm not sure..." I trail off, leaning back in my chair in frustration. Nothing is popping out at me. No leads - nothing!

"Well, I think I'm going to go look for my book. I'll be back in a few minutes." She gets up to leave.

"If I'm not here when you get back," I call over my shoulder, "you'll find me in a corner, pounding my head against the wall." She laughs and disappears behind the shelves. "I'm not kidding," I mutter to myself as I return to the well-worn book.

After an hour of searching, I find several books that could help. I check them out and make a mental note to return for a more thorough search...alone. Isabella checks out a book for her astronomy assignment and a paperback mystery novel.

"I didn't think they'd have novels in the library of a wizarding school," I say as a means of inquiring. My stomach growls, but I ignore it. That problem will be taken care of soon enough. It's almost noon.

"They do, but you have to know where to look. Not too many wizards or witches like Muggle novels, especially fantasy novels."

"No surprise there." I slow down to readjust my books. They have almost slipped completely from my arms. Once they're settled against my chest, we return to our natural pace. "Why mystery novels?"

"I enjoy being able to figure out the murder before the book is halfway through."

"Your 'ability'?"

"You catch on fast."

"I'm a quick study. And very observant."

"Two great qualities."

The Great Hall is full of people already. I start towards the Gryffindor table, but Isabella stops me.

"Sit with us. The house seating is more of a tradition than a rule." Without a second glance at the Gryffindor table, I join Isabella and her friends for lunch. "Vida, Lizzy, Kate, this is Leia."

"Yeah, I kind of guessed that, Bella," a girl with blonde hair and purple highlights laughs. She turns to me. "There's been a lot of talk about you," she says, extending her hand. I take it.

"None of it bad, I hope."

"Nothing unusual in gossip circles," she says with a shrug. "I'm Vida."

"Cool name, Vida. Is it short for anything?"

She laughs again, showing the whitest teeth I've ever seen. "No, but thanks. I guess it is a unique name. But then so is Leia, I imagine."

"That depends on spelling and pronunciation, but I suppose it is. I mean, _I've _never met anyone else with my name before."

"Neither have I." She watches as I reach for a sandwich. "I wouldn't eat that if I were you."

I stop and look up at her, a smile curling around the corners of my mouth. "And why not, might I ask?" She leans across the table in a conspiratorial manner.

"Let's just say that we have some new house elves assigned to the kitchen and they haven't yet managed to perfect the modern sandwich." A small chuckle escapes my lips and I choke a little on the water I just drank. Isabella and the other two girls, who I assume are Lizzy and Kate, look over at the two of us.

"Don't choke to death, Leia," the black-haired girl says, "or we'll forever be marked as the jinxed house, where students are liable to drop dead in their salad."

"Lizzy, you're sooo thoughtful," the other girl, Kate, says sarcastically as she rolls her eyes. Lizzy responds not with words, but with a roll - a roll thrown at Kate. Kate smirks and gives Lizzy a look as if to say 'are you sure you want to do that'. Lizzy just sticks out her tongue and throws another roll. We all break down into girlish giggles as a small-scale food fight ensues. Students around us join in the fun. One of the Ravenclaw prefects eventually comes over and orders us to stop. She tells us to clean up the mess we made and leave before we cause any more of an uprising. She also deducts twenty points from Gryffindor and forty points from Ravenclaw - ten for each one of us who started the food fight and an extra ten for me for my revenge tactics. As we make our way out, Lizzy bursts into a fit of giggles.

"Jenny is such a stick in the mud."

"I don't know about that, but I loved the look on her face when Leia tossed that roll at her."

"Hell, that was more fun than tossing peas at you, Vida."

"The only drawback is we lost a bunch of House points."

"Yeah, but I wouldn't do anything different if given half a chance-"

"Oy, Leia!"

We all turn around at the sound of another voice. I smile as I see Ron and Harry walking across the grass towards us. My smile falters a bit at the sight of Hermione behind them, but not enough for them to notice.

"Leia, where have you been all day?" Ron asks, lightly punching me in the shoulder.

"With Isabella most of the time, and her friends for lunch."

"Isabella?"

Isabella waves.

"Ah. Nice to meet you."

"So..." Harry says, "do you want to come sit by the lake with us?"

"Well," I pause, looking back at Isabella and her friends, "I'd have to ask th-"

"Go on, Leia," Vida says. "We'll see you later." She smiles and they all wave before heading off toward another part of the grounds. I walk over to the lake where Ron, Hermione, and Harry have already sat down. I take a seat in the shade and lean against a tree. I close my eyes and soon find my senses dulling. The darkness swims before my eyes, changing and shifting, transforming itself into a dimly lit room. A tall, cloaked figure is standing before me. He turns to face me and I can see his eyes, red slits, looking back into my own green ones. Mother says his used to be exactly like mine, before he had to find a new body...

"Check the book," he whispers, his voice as snake-like as his face. And then he is gone. I wake with a start and find I am still beside the lake. I don't know how long I have been asleep, but it doesn't seem as though anyone has noticed. Ron is trying to splash Harry and Hermione and they are all running around and rolling in the grass, trying to get each other as wet as possible. Their shoes are resting nearby. I roll my eyes and pull out my wand. With barely any movement at all, I whisper, "_Aguamenti!_" A stream of water bursts from my wand and flies toward Ron. It hits him gently in the back of his head. He spins around.

"Alright, which one of you did that?" He looks from Hermione to Harry and back again. But they just shrug their shoulders, Hermione shaking from the laughter she is trying to hold in. I can't contain myself anymore. I start to laugh, as well. Ron grins evilly and pulls out his own wand. He sends the same spell back at me, but I am too quick.

"_Protego!_" The stream returns to Ron and hits him in the face. He splutters and coughs.

"This is war. You do know that, don't you?" He says, smirking and lifting his wand again.

"Don't use that spell, Ron. I'm not ticklish." He puts down his wand and gapes at me.

"How - how did you -" he stammers.

"How did I know you were going to use a tickling hex?"

"Yeah..." I laugh at his dumbfounded expression.

"I didn't." This is an outright lie - I read his mind with Legilimency - but he needn't know. "Wild guess." He looks closely at me.

"Are you really not ticklish?"

"No, I just did it to throw you off." Before I can move, he charges me and starts tickling me. I can barely breathe for laughing so hard. When he finally backs off, he grins.

"Revenge is sweet." Harry and Hermione burst out laughing again and all three of them sit down next to me in the shade of the tree. We spend the rest of the afternoon lying around, pulling up blades of grass, talking, and laughing. It's quite peaceful, but I am still bothered by the company I'm keeping. When I ignore the facts I can talk and joke with them like any of my other friends, but every time I see the lightning shaped scar on Potter's forehead, I am reminded that he is still our enemy. It is his fault I didn't have a father for the first fourteen years of my life. How does Father expect me to keep this up? Eventually I'm going to let something slip - well, more than I already have - but something worse, something about my father, the Death Eaters, my ancestors. Potter is bound to know almost as much about Father and our ancestors as I do.


	16. Chapter 16: A Change In The Winds

**Chapter 16: A Change In The Winds**

Leia's Pov:

"Finally, it's done." I lean back in my chair, my Transfiguration essay spread out on the table in front of me. Ron is still slumped over his book and Harry's quill is scratching away at a crowded piece of parchment. Hermione went to bed almost an hour ago. She finished her essay last night. "Well, gentlemen, I think I'll turn in for the night." I receive several grunts in response. I grab my books and essay and head up the stairs. Those two are _so_ pleasant sometimes.

Once upstairs, I take my shower and pull on my pajamas. It is then, as I'm pulling the sheets to my chin, that I remember my father's message from this afternoon. _Check the book..._ I lean over to the nightstand and pull a small book out of the drawer. Before opening it, I mutter a few words in Parseltongue and open the cover. The pages have disappeared, the book transformed into a box, and in their place rests a pendant. It is a silver snake wrapped around a round gold locket. The snake has two beautiful emeralds for eyes and several emeralds form the shape of a lock on the locket. The pendant gleams in the moonlight. I put both the pendant and the book in the drawer, but not before pulling out the letter that was under the pendant. I unfold it and see my father's handwriting on the parchment.

_Leia,_

_Guard this with your life. Don't let Potter get suspicious of it. It can only be opened with Parseltongue so he will be your only true threat, as long as it is never stolen. But if your mission has been going as well as planned, he shouldn't suspect a thing. I can't explain what it is at the present time, but it would disappoint me greatly if you were to think any less of this duty because you weren't completely informed. Do not contact me for a while. I have an important matter to take care of and even the Death Eaters are forbidden to call me back for any reason._

_They have been told to report to the one I have left in charge of all operations: you. Except they only know a name and how to contact you. I gave them the name Foster. The first name is up to you. As for contact, the Malfoy boy will deliver all messages. Do not worry about the means. It has all been decided and your identity will be safe. Although, I would suggest keeping your hood up when meeting with anyone. Your mother knows not whom I have chosen. Do not reveal your duties even to her. The less who know, the better._

_Father_

_P.S. Next time I plant the Dark Mark in a painting, I expect you to take the hint and contact me._

I cringe at his final words. I didn't even think of that possibility. Couldn't he just get my attention in a more subtle manner, like setting off a bomb in the grounds? Now he may have made Dumbledore suspicious of me without realizing it. Bloody hell. And now he's left me in charge of everything! I'm honored and all, but couldn't he give the job to anyone else? Maybe someone who doesn't have to worry as much about his or her cover? Someone who doesn't have to deal with school on top of everything else? Who am I kidding? Of course he wouldn't dream of giving his role to anyone who isn't a blood relative. He's too proud for that, too proud to entrust it to anyone who might taint the position. I'm not sure I'm really the right person for the job, but I will do it to please my father. I will do it because I am loyal to him and because I will not lose his trust.

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_Wednesday, September 25, Late Evening_

Harry's Pov:

"They've been giving the Order a lot of trouble lately. Three ministry members have gone missing. More and more muggles and wizards have been tortured and killed. The ministry is crumbling."

"Did you hear about Amelia Bones? Someone claimed they saw her about a week ago."

"Where?"

"She was going into the Department of Mysteries."

"But she's supposed to be dead, isn't she? The Order found her body after Voldemort murdered her. It doesn't make sense."

"A lot doesn't make sense these days," Hermione says, her quill hovering over her Arithmancy homework, "like where Leia keeps running off to."

"Hermione, it's not like _we've_ never broken the rules by staying out past curfew," I argue, remembering our many trips around the grounds under the Invisibility Cloak.

"Maybe she's been going to Quidditch practice with the Renegades. After all, they have a game coming up in October." Disappointment sounds in Ron's voice. He and I tried to get permission from Dumbledore to go to the upcoming game, but the headmaster wouldn't allow it, not with the increased movement of the Death Eaters. According to new information that has reached the Order, they are planning something big.

"Maybe, but I don't buy it," Hermione is saying. "What Quidditch team practices until three in the morning?"

"_Three in the morning?_" Ron's jaw drops.

"Yes, 3 A.M., Ron. For the past three nights, she has been out of the dorms until three. If you don't find that suspicious, then you need to get back into the queue for another dose of common sense."

"But what else could she be up to?" Ron says, trying to defend himself.

"I don't know, but I'm betting it has something to do with all of the Death Eater activity of late."

"What proof is there?" I raise my voice and throw down my essay. "Have you seen a Dark Mark tattooed on her forearm? Has she been acting particularly friendly toward the Slytherins?"

"Harry, keep it down," Ron whispers.

"Why? Everyone's in bed."

"Not everyone." Hermione glances toward the portrait hole where a cloaked figure is silently emerging. We sit in utter silence and they don't seem to notice us. The fire casts only a dim light on the abandoned Common Room. The table where we sit is almost hidden in the shadows. The figure reaches up to their hood and Leia's face emerges from the shadows within. She looks worried about something. She keeps rubbing her shoulder as if it causes her pain. From within her robes, she retrieves a small object, but from my position I cannot see what it is. Her fingers wrap gently around it as she moves toward the girls' dorms. She walks right past us and goes upstairs, never taking notice of the eyes that watch her every movement. Perhaps she isn't all I thought she was, but I am still willing to give her a chance. True, even after almost a month, we still don't know too much about her, but she might not feel comfortable enough around us. Yes, she'll talk, study, and joke with us; she's quite friendly. But casual acquaintance is still not comparable to true friendship. She seems to be warming up to us, but perhaps even when she does she won't tell us anything. Maybe Hermione's right, maybe she does have something to hide. I just can't see her as a Death Eater. Besides, the Death Eaters all have the Dark Mark branded on their left forearm and I've never seen one on her in all the times she's worn short sleeves of any kind. And she and Malfoy have certainly been at each other's throats this past week. Any true Death Eater wouldn't be that hostile to another of their kind, would they? Certainly Voldemort wouldn't allow them to be at each other's throats, especially if he was trying to execute some big scheme. Speaking of which, where is Voldemort in all of this? No one has seen him or heard word of him in all the chaos of the last few months. Why is he keeping such a low profile?

"Well, Harry?" Hermione says pointedly after Leia disappears up the stairs. I let out a huge sigh.

"Maybe you're right, Hermione, but I still need proof."

"Then I'll get you proof." With that, she packs her things and goes off to the dorms. I look at Ron for an explanation, but he just shrugs.

"I have no idea, mate."

Draco's Pov:

I sigh aloud as I stare into the dying fire in the Slytherin Common Room. It has been a busy and frustrating three weeks. It all started when the Dark Lord left to go abroad, leaving some woman named Vivian Foster in charge of operations and leaving me a delivery boy. I've never even met this woman, but I have had to send all of my reports to her, as well as the messages from other Death Eaters. It is an easy enough system: everyone gives me their messages, reports, and requests, and I charm them to disapparate on their own to Foster, where ever she is. Her replies come to me the same way and I send them on again. But the messages and letters have been coming so frequently I barely have time to do anything but Death Eater work. It has been quite annoying actually. I have been very stressed, particularly in the last week. People have begun to notice.

I haven't made fun of the underclassmen in over a week. I don't talk much at breakfast except to snap at someone who interrupts my train of thought. I haven't been completing a lot of my homework. The only person who sympathizes at all is Leia. She seems to be as stressed and worn out as I am. Although, two stressed people may be able to commiserate, but it is only a matter of time before they are ready to commit murder when around each other. We are usually able to hold somewhat pleasant conversations, but lately everything I do seems to piss her off and vice-versa. If I mutter to myself while trying to read a crystal ball in Divinations class, she smacks me upside the head. If she taps her wand on the desk in Charms, I steal it until she crushes my foot with her heels. When we pass each other in the hallway, we shout insults back and forth until our friends tell us to shut up and drop it already.

I hate the animosity that has grown between us, but I suppose it's not all bad. First, I won't ruin my reputation by acting friendly toward a Gryffindor if we're arguing all the time. Second, I've been working off a lot of the stress through these childish displays. I think it's been helping my nerves more than hurting them. I'll have to remember to thank Leia later for acting as my stress relief. What could be bugging _her_ that much? I at least have a legitimate reason. And she keeps fussing with her left shoulder, rubbing it constantly in class. I don't dare ask about it again. The last time I did, she about knocked me off the plush stool in Trelawney's room when she jabbed her wand into my chest. She told me to piss off and mind my own business - advice I may take to heart from now on, at least when I'm around her.

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_Friday, October 4, Past Midnight_

Harry's Pov:

I toss and turn under the covers, unable to sleep. I keep thinking of Leia, of Hermione's frequent absence over the past week, and of horcruxes... Horcruxes. We have to find them. Dumbledore has hit a dead end. We've accounted for the diary, which I destroyed my second year, and the ring, which Dumbledore destroyed last year. Then there's the locket. We tracked that down not three months previous. It was in Sirius's house - well, my house. Kreacher had it hidden away from when we threw it out two years ago (before we knew its significance). That leaves three. According to Dumbledore, there are only six horcruxes. I hope he's right. Even still, I can't think what the other three could be. One could be Voldemort's familiar, Nagini, but how we'll ever get near enough to kill her I don't know. That still leaves two.

I jump at the sound of soft tapping on the window. I shove my glasses on and look up to see a small barn owl on the windowsill. I get up quickly to let it in and it holds out a note for me. I take the torn piece of parchment, as the owl retreats into the night. I can just discern Hermione's handwriting in the moonlight.

_Harry,_

_Get Ron. Come to Myrtle's bathroom. Hurry._

_Hermione_

I frown, wondering what could be so important, but I don't waste any more time in getting Ron up.

"Ron, get up, quickly."

"Whatyouwant? Geoff."

"Hermione wants to talk to us."

"At this hour?" Ron asks as he rises to put on his shoes.

"It must be important." We hurry down to the second floor under the Invisibility Cloak. Inside the bathroom, we find Hermione sitting next to a cauldron filled with a purple liquid. She keeps waving her wand over it, muttering various spells. "What's this Hermione?" I ask, sitting down next to her. Ron sits down on her other side. We both peer into the cauldron as Hermione answers.

"You wanted proof, Harry, so this will show us precisely what Leia is up to." She smiles with pride, having obviously preformed some complicated magic.

"Impressive, Hermione," Ron says, "but isn't this spying?"

"Do you want the truth or not?" I just shrug and ask how it works. "It's sort of like a crystal ball, but more reliable, and we can actually hear what's being said. The picture is pretty clear now. Let me just turn up the volume. She waves her wand one more time over the cauldron. "She just left the dorms about ten minutes ago, so we should learn something."

Through the simmering potion, we watch as Leia emerges from the Hogwarts grounds. She has her cloak wrapped around her and her hood pulled once again over her face. She briefly touches her shoulder before disapparating. Thanks to Hermione's potion, Leia appears again in an instant. She is standing outside the gate of the Malfoy Manor. I lean forward even more without realizing. Hermione pushes me back down so I'm not blocking anyone's view. Leia makes her way to the front door. She knocks once and the door swings open.

"Glad you could come, Ms. Foster," a voice says from the dimly lit living room. Leia nods, acknowledging the speaker, Lucius Malfoy. "I have a message from Dolohov."

"Good news, I hope," Leia hisses dangerously. "We haven't had a lot of that lately."

"But we've been making progress."

"Progress?!" she shouts, causing Lucius to flinch. "You call this progress? All you lot have done is torture and kill a few unimportant muggles and ministry members. You sent that inferi into the Department of Mysteries and all she managed to retrieve was this!" Leia holds out a tiny gold key. "We need it, yes, but until we have what it unlocks it will do us no good. She was supposed to steal the key _and _the chest. I also wanted her to locate a prophecy for me, but that didn't happen either." Leia walks over to the window and peers out of the drawn curtains. "Who was in charge of that escapade anyway?"

Lucius shifts uncomfortably. "I was," he mutters. Leia turns around, her face still hidden, but her voice projecting all her anger for her.

"I expected more from you, Malfoy. You disappoint me." Lucius takes a step back as Leia pulls out her wand. She raises it to point at his chest and hisses the curse in an almost inaudible tone. "_Crucio!_" Lucius collapses in a heap and his screams pierce the silence of the house. She lets him writhe there like some injured animal for several minutes before finally letting him be. "Get up, Malfoy," she says coldly and Lucius stands up as fast as he can, trying desperately to keep from falling down again. "Now, what did Dolohov have to say? I certainly hope he has managed his job better than you have yours."

"He says everything is in order. The job will be done by the time the month is over. Our people are already in place and they are making their moves as we speak." A relieved look passes over Lucius Malfoy's face as Leia relaxes and returns to the window.

"Good," she says, her voice barely audible over Myrtle's sobs, but probably easily discernible in the quiet Malfoy manor. "Dispose of the woman - that inferi. We don't need her anymore. However, I do expect you to finish the job I _ordered_ you to do." She says the word 'ordered' with such malice that the hairs standing on end on the back of my neck join the shivers that run down Malfoy's spine.

"I will not fail you, my Lord," Lucius whispers with a low bow.

"'Lord', Lucius?" Leia asks in a mocking tone.

"My apologies, Ms. Foster," Malfoy corrects quickly. "It's just that for a moment you reminded me of the Dark Lord."

"Did I now?"

"It won't happen again."

"For your sake, I hope not. If the Dark Lord were to hear you, he would not be pleased." A smirk is just visible under Leia's hood as the fire briefly lights up the room with fresh sparks.

"You wouldn't tell him, would you?" Lucius pleads. "It was merely a slip of the tongue."

"No, Malfoy, I would not waste his time with such a trivial matter. Just watch yourself from now on. No more slip-ups, whether in words or duties - are we clear?" Malfoy only nods. Leia holds out her hand to him, a small vile in her palm. It contains a light, smoky liquid. "Take this, Malfoy. I want to make sure there are no more failed attempts." Malfoy takes it cautiously.

"What exactly does it do, Ms. Foster?"

"It will allow you to become invisible for one hour. No more, no less. Use it wisely. I want _you _to fetch the chest and find that prophecy. Obviously you can't take the prophecy, so I expect you to be very specific when reporting its location. This is your second chance to prove yourself capable. You have one week. I'll be back to see you about this time Friday, and you better have something for me."

"Thank you, Ms. Foster," Lucius says, bowing once more. "I will not fail."

"Do not, or I will be forced to do more the torture you." Malfoy's eyes shine with fear as he stares wide-eyed at the woman before him, a woman as cruel-hearted as the man she serves. Without another word, Leia disapparates and the potion bubbles as the picture fades. I sit back and watch as rain begins to fall softly outside the high window. Hermione glares at the potion, her arms folded and her forehead creased in thought. Ron is the first to break the silence.

"So that's it then? That's the secret of the mysterious Leia Gerwin? A Death Eater and murderer?"

"She didn't kill anyone, Ron." Ron's jaw drops as soon as the words escape my mouth.

"Are you defending her then?" he asks, his temper rising. "I'll admit I enjoyed watching Malfoy being tortured, but after all she said you still think there's nothing wrong with her presence here?"

"No, Ron, I wasn't defending her," I respond, my voice holding no emotion. "But get your facts straight: she didn't kill anyone."

"You don't know that, Harry," Hermione whispers, her voice echoing against the walls. There is silence for a few minutes. My thoughts are so confused it's hard to think straight. Leia - a Death Eater? I guess it was always possible. But for some reason I still don't want to believe it. Where's her Dark Mark? What's with the name Foster? Why the cloak and dagger act with Lucius Malfoy? There must be some way to get to the heart of this. There must be more to it than that. The hat put her in Gryffindor! She seems perfectly happy hanging out with us. Just last week she sent Crabbe and Goyle to the Hospital Wing...

I shake my head to clear it a little. Once given the time and space to appear, a thought occurs to me.

"Hermione, how exactly does this potion work?"

"It's kind of complicated. Do you really want to hear the entire process?" She frowns as she looks over at me.

"No, just bits and pieces. For instance, how do you tell the potion to zero in on a specific person?"

"You have to put a bit of the potion on something they would carry with them. Then the potion follows that object."

"What did you use?" Ron chimes in.

"That potion vile she gave Malfoy."

"How did you know she was going to take that?" I ask.

"She wrote a note to herself and placed it under her wand when she went to bed the other night. It said, 'Don't forget about potion on Friday'. And next to it was a small vile labeled 'VF to LM'." Hermione looks at me questioningly. "Why? What's gotten into your head, Harry?"

"Just a possible explanation." I pause for a brief second. "Who is VF? LM is obviously Lucius Malfoy."

"Weren't you listening, Harry?" Ron asks. "She used the name Foster. V. Foster - that's her fake name. Or her real name...I'm not sure which. The entire situation is a little confusing."

"See, Harry? It all fits." Hermione begins to clean up the potion. "I guess we should tell Dumbledore first thing in the morning." With that, she and Ron get up to leave. "Are you coming?" Hermione asks, pausing at the door.

"Not yet. I'll see you guys later, okay? Here," I hand them the Invisibility Cloak, "take this. I'll manage." They say goodnight and I remain seated on the floor. For a few minutes I remain lost in thought, wondering what to do about the situation. I suppose I'm a little skeptical about the true identity of Leia and Foster, whether they are the same person or not. After all, Moody turned out to really be Barty Crouch Jr. And we've suspected other people of things when they really weren't up to anything. Unfortunately, I can't get to the bottom of this in one night. Something about the whole thing just doesn't feel right. I swear something, some piece of the puzzle, is missing.

I continue to concentrate on the situation, but before I can come to any sort of conclusion, a noise sounds from behind me. I turn around just in time to see one of the sinks moving aside to reveal the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. I sit, frozen, watching as a figure emerges from the dank depths of the underground chamber.

Leia's Pov:

I apparate back outside the grounds of Hogwarts, pulling my cloak around me for warmth. It's awfully cold tonight for early October. I quickly make my way through the grounds and sneak in through a secret tunnel on the north side of the school. The tunnel is long and dark, but at least the wind can't reach me here. It soon opens up into a large stone chamber. According to my father, it's referred to as the Chamber of Secrets. At first the chamber seemed a little creepy, but I've found it to be very useful over the past few weeks. I had to get rid of the rotting basilisk smell first, but that was easy enough.

I retrieve a change of clothes from a small alcove and stash my robe and a few other items I took along. I change into the jeans and tank top and start on my way to Myrtle's bathroom. Luckily it is a lot easier to get in and out of the chamber these days. I magically installed a staircase where the stone chute used to be.

I listen for the sound of anyone in the bathroom, but I hear no one, not even Myrtle. I open the entrance with Parseltongue and start to climb out, but my body tenses when I realize I'm not alone in the small bathroom. My mouth becomes very dry as I recognize the figure before me.

"Harry?" I whisper into the darkness, nervousness starting to overtake me.

"Leia? Is that you?" There is surprise and a strange loathing to his voice - not the usual tone he uses with me.

"Y-yes," I stutter, climbing out of the tunnel and allowing it to close behind me. I stand there, not daring to say more than I have to lest I let something slip - again.

"What were you doing down there?" he asks, standing up. I can see his face now in the moonlight, the accusation shining in his eyes.

"Well, I-I didn't...I wasn't..." Oh, damn. I can't even make coherent sentences. Why does he have to be here - now of all times? I don't _need_ this kind of trouble right now.

"Answer-" Harry starts in an angry tone, but he stops abruptly. A wave of curiosity washes over his face. "How did you get in there in the first place?" he asks, his voice softening.

"I just...ugh!" This is so frustrating. I quickly form an excuse - the truth coated with a few lies. I relax my features and try to look sincere. "Well, Harry, you should know." He opens his mouth to speak, but closes it again.

"You can speak _Parseltongue_?" he asks with so much incredulity I wonder if I'll be able to talk him into believing any of the stories I'm fabricating. "But how?"

"Um..." I scramble for a reason. "I really don't know." It's as good a reason as any, I suppose. I hope he buys this. When he doesn't answer, I sit down, pretending to be exasperated. "Harry, I thought you of all people would understand." Confusion comes over him as he sits down opposite me.

"Understand what?"

"Why I wouldn't want people to know I speak Parseltongue, especially when I have no idea _why_ I can speak it. Surely you know what that is like. You speak Parseltongue." He just stares at me. "Surely, you got _some_ grief for it when people found out."

"How do you know anyone found out?" Oops, I aroused his suspicion.

"Well, Hermione and Ron know. And I heard all about the incident five years ago involving you and the Chamber. I just assumed more people knew about it."

"Oh, right." He relaxes again. "Yeah, a lot of people found out. But that still doesn't explain what you were doing in the Chamber in the first place."

"I discovered it not too long ago, by accident." I decide to stick with as much of the truth as possible. It's easier to get away with lies when they're based on truth. Harry waits for me to continue. I sigh and explain. At least he's buying this charade - for now. "I was talking to Salazar and-"

"So that's why your familiar is a snake? Because you can communicate with it?"

"Yes," I reply, cautiously.

"So you didn't really need my help on the train, did you?"

"No, I just didn't want anyone to know I could speak Parseltongue." He doesn't look convinced. "_Because_," I continue, "I was afraid people would think I was dangerous or something. I can't explain _why_ I can speak to snakes; I just can. And I didn't want anyone to hold that against me, like they did with you." I add the last bit in the hope that he'll be more receptive to my story. He doesn't say anything, but he does nod as if to say he accepts this at least.

"So what happened when you and Salazar..." He motions with his hand, prompting me.

"Oh, well, I was...annoyed that I couldn't find something, and Salazar was recounting my steps to help me find it. Well, he mentioned opening something and then it happened."

"What happened?" What? Did he completely miss what I said?

"The Chamber opened when Salazar gave the order. Only he didn't mean it as an order for the Chamber. I guess it doesn't really recognize the difference." I cringe in the darkness. Will he buy that? I can't believe I'm so jumpy about this. He can't have learned that much about me in one night.

"Did you lose a potion vile recently?" he asks. I stare wide-eyed at his shadowy form, frozen. Shit. I spoke too soon.

"No, why?"

"Where were you tonight?"

"In the Chamber. Harry, I thought we went through this already."

"All night?"

"Yes, Harry, I've been here the entire night since about midnight."

"What were you doing?"

"I don't see why I have to tell you."

"Let's just say if you don't you'll be in plenty of hot water in the morning, whether you deserve to be or not." In that instant I decide to stop arguing.

"Fine. I was experimenting with some new theories."

"What kind of theories?" He sounds genuinely interested now.

"About how to..." What should I tell him? There is that one spell...What the hell? He already knows about it anyway. "About how to defend myself against the killing curse," I finish quickly.

"That again? Leia, if you're not careful, that spell might actually be the death of you - never mind _Avada Kadavra_."

"You're probably right." I sigh, realizing the truth of his words, even though _my_ words weren't entirely true. "Harry," I say, deciding to trust my luck, "why are you so concerned with my activities of late?"

"I..." Now he's at a loss for answers. Good. I threw him off. "About that vile..."

"Are we talking about a specific one or is this a general question?"

"I can't really explain it to you." Can't or won't?

"But you can answer my question can't you? I give you permission to be vague if that suits you." I'll get it out of him yet.

"Okay then," he says, sounding like it is anything but okay. "Specific."

"Hmm, and you think I may have lost one?"

"It's possible."

"Did you find one?"

"You could say that."

"What's so special about it?"

"I can't exactly tell you that."

I frown. There has to be a way - I just have to know what all he knows.

"What makes you think it might be mine?"

"Hermione thought she saw the same one on your dresser."

"That's odd," I say, trying to act as though I have no idea where this conversation is headed, even though I am starting to get the picture quite clearly. "I mean, I did have one on my dresser, but it couldn't be the same one. I gave that vile to my mother early this morning. Or at this hour I should say _yesterday_ morning."

"You gave it to your mother?"

"Yes. She wanted me to mix up a batch of my invisibility potion for a friend of ours. She gave me a specific vile, labeled and everything, so that I wouldn't forget." Wow, I can lie fast. I suppose it helps when I sort of know what he's after. What troubles me is that I still don't know how he found out.

"And did your friend give a reason for wanting it?"

"No. She said it was important, so Mother didn't argue. They've been good friends for a long time, you see."

"Since when?"

"Since school, I suppose. Like I said, Vivian asked for the potion, said it was important, and Mother gave it to her. It's as simple as that."

"So it wasn't you then!" Harry exclaims, excitement in his voice.

"What wasn't me?"

"Wow, did Hermione ever have it wrong!" He isn't even talking to me anymore. Harry suddenly bursts out laughing. I shush him, trying to keep our meeting a secret from the ever-watchful Filch. "I'm sorry, Leia. It's just that Hermione jumped to so many conclusions. She's ready to tell Dumbledore that you're a Death Eater!" He is whispering now, but the amusement is still in his voice.

"Harry, explain." I keep my voice serious. He clears his throat once and takes a minute to compose himself.

"Sorry. I guess it's not really that funny, but after all the worrying I've been doing, well!" He leans back against the wall. "I'll make this as brief as possible. Hermione was suspicious of your late-night outings-"

"The ones I've spent hidden away in that chamber?"

"Right, so she brewed a potion so that she could follow you. The only problem is she had to put the potion on an object that you would carry with you. That was the only way it would work. So when she saw that vile on your dresser and the note, she figured you would be taking it with you if you sneaked out again. But you never took it with you. You had already passed it on to your mother, who in turn passed it on to her friend. Only," his voice falters, "that still doesn't excuse what we saw tonight. It only lets _you_ off the hook."

"What exactly did you see?" My voice quivers nervously.

"A Death Eater meeting between some woman named V. Foster and Lucius Malfoy."

I speak before he can get any ideas into his head.

"_Our _Foster? _Vivian_? But she can't be a Death Eater. Mother would have known, she would have done something, she would have kept that potion away from her!" I pretend to go into hysterics. Perhaps it's working because Harry is soon at my side, holding me in his arms.

"So you didn't know." I shake my head and put on my best shocked expression. He sighs. "We should still tell Dumbledore. What we heard sounded extremely important to the war effort. But trust me," he whispers in my ear, "I'll be sure to inform them that you had no part in it."

"And my mother?"

"Same deal."

I sigh in relief. The sigh is for Harry's benefit. The relief is real. I'm off the hook for now. Then suddenly, I remember Harry's arms around me and I shift a little in his hold.

"Um, Harry? Do you mind?" He looks dazed and confused, but suddenly it hits him.

"Oh! Sorry!" He immediately lets go of me and looks away, his cheeks filling with a color I can make out even in the thin light of the moon. We both stand up, embarrassed. "We should get back to the dorms," he suggests, embarrassment still ringing in his words. I only nod. Without another word, we sneak back to Gryffindor Tower and into our respective rooms. But before we say goodnight, he quietly reassures me that he'll make sure I'm there when they go to see the headmaster. Thankfully, he said nothing about me being there when he repeats my lies to Hermione. I don't want to seem like I'm too eager to make everyone think I'm innocent. That might arouse more suspicion. That's the last thing I need.


	17. Chapter 17: Advice And Assistance

**Disclaimer: To give credit where credit is due, the song lyrics in this part are from "One Step Inside Doesn't Mean You Understand" by The Notwist. Normally I don't include songs in my stories, but there are some occasions that become the exception to the rule:) Normally I stick with my own poetry and songs that I write, but in this case, I decided it was appropriate.**

**Part 17: Advice And Assistance**

Leia's Pov:

I wake up to the sound of tapping on the windowsill. I roll over under the covers, but I don't get up. I sure had a long night. The tapping continues and I groan in protest. I bury my face in my pillow and wave my hand at the window. I open it without the use of my wand. Fresh autumn wind blows into the room as something falls onto my nightstand. I pick up the folded piece of parchment and open it. Harry's handwriting meets my tired eyes.

_Dumbledore's office - nine o'clock._

I glance at the clock. It's eight o'clock now. Sluggishly I get out of bed and hop into the shower. I let the hot water pour over me and allow my muscles to relax. I need to be focused when we see Dumbledore. Harry must be talking to Ron and Hermione now. I let out a huge sigh as I turn the water off. I hope it all goes well - for me that is. Hopefully, if I don't get myself in too much trouble, I'll be able to get away with not telling my father how much they almost found out.

As I leave Gryffindor Tower, I call for Salazar. Even when he's a mile away, he can still hear me calling. I'm not sure how he does it. Perhaps he only senses that I need him. I pass the time looking out one of the tall windows. The grounds are lovely with the morning mist hovering over them. But the peaceful silence of the morning is broken when my stomach growls. I cringe in annoyance. I guess I should get breakfast. But it would take too long to run down to the Great Hall to eat. Smiling to myself, I pull out my wand.

"_Accio toast!_" But is toast enough? "_Accio bacon!_" Good - that's plenty.

_You called?_

I turn around in time to see my familiar coming out from behind a suit of armor.

_Ah, Salazar, I need you to do me a favor._

He curls up at my feet and waits for me to continue.

_Deliver a message for me, will you? It's for Draco._

Salazar nods his head once and opens his mouth. I hand him the letter. He takes it gently in his fangs and slides off to deliver it. My breakfast soon arrives. I eat it slowly, watching the Whomping Willow as it swings its branches at several birds. With fifteen minutes until the meeting, I make my way to Dumbledore's office. Harry is waiting for me in front of the statue that guards the staircase.

"So..." I meet his nervous gaze, a thousand questions dancing across my mind. He reads only one question in my face.

"Hermione apologizes for suspecting you, but she isn't sorry about the spying bit." He lets out a short and abrupt laugh. I force a half-smile.

"I wouldn't expect her to be. We've gained some valuable information." I am careful to group myself with the three of them. Suddenly I have the feeling I need to keep reminding them that I'm one of the good guys. If I don't, they're likely to dig too deep and uncover the truth. "Shall we?" I gesture towards the hidden staircase.

"Oh, right." Harry jumps as if I startled him out of some deep, distant thought. He gives the statue the password and it jumps aside for us. Harry knocks on the door.

"Come in," the headmaster's voice calls from within. We step inside his office, my heart racing. I take a glance inside Harry's thoughts. He is nervous, too. Apparently he wasn't entirely honest with me about Hermione. According to his thoughts, she was quite unwilling to believe my story and she still suspects me of involvement. I look deeper into his thoughts at the content of that conversation. I have to check one thing...Good, at least he didn't tell them about my ability to speak Parseltongue. As I read his mind, I gather that he is unsure of whether he should say anything yet. Since Hermione was so reluctant to believe my alibi for last night, Harry chose to leave out the fact that I "spent the night" in the Chamber of Secrets. He merely told them I was in one of the empty classrooms on the second floor. Thank goodness for small favors. If that boy weren't my sworn enemy, I'd give him a big hug for that. Wait. What am I saying? I think all this overtime has gotten to me.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter, Miss Gerwin." Dumbledore smiles from his desk as he watches us over his half-moon spectacles. "Please, sit down." With a flick of his wand, two plush chairs appear in front of his desk. I sit down hesitantly, but Harry doesn't move. His eyes seemed to be glazed over...

"Harry, are you all right?" I ask, but he doesn't respond. I stand up and cross to him. I wave my hand in front of his face, but he doesn't seem to notice. _That's strange_, I think, staring into his eyes, trying to find some recognition in them. A tiny bead of sweat forms on his brow. He lets out a few shuddering breaths before his eyes slowly come back into focus. He looks at me, bewildered, and shakes his head as if to clear it.

"Foster's in charge," he whispers. My stomach plummets. "He's gone - abroad - and he left her in charge...of everything." I back away from Harry very slowly and turn to look at Dumbledore. He looks very worried, but he doesn't say anything. Harry moves to one of the chairs and sits down. I remain standing, my hands clutching the back of the other chair. "No wonder Malfoy was so obedient and scared." Harry still sounds as though he's talking more to himself than to us. "And she's planning something - something big. It involves the Ministry, but what could they-"

His quiet tangent is cut off by Ron and Hermione's entrance. Hermione opens her mouth to say something as she sits down in one of two new chairs Dumbledore conjured, but she stops abruptly when she sees Harry's expression.

"What's the matter, Harry?" she asks, her voice full of worry. But her worries are much different than mine. And I don't have to read her mind to know that's true.

"I think all of you have some explaining to do." We all turn to face the headmaster. I gulp, waiting nervously for someone to speak.

"We came to see you," Hermione starts, "about something we-" But she doesn't finish the thought. "Harry," she says, glaring at me, "what is _she_ doing here?" Harry sits up straight and rigid in his chair.

"I told you, Hermione. She had nothing to do with it."

"You heard every word, Harry. And no matter what she told you, I still don't trust her." She continues to glare at me. I force myself to remain calm and composed.

"Well, I do trust her."

I smile a little at this. I'm not sure whose word has more influence, but at least I'm convincing _somebody_. I wait as patiently as possible for them to stop arguing. They talk as though I'm not just three feet away. Luckily, Dumbledore steps in.

"Mr. Potter, Miss Granger. Would either of you care to halt this argument long enough to explain what it's all about?"

"It's about something we saw last night," Hermione says. "But I'm not sure it's a good idea to let her sit in on this meeting." She points at me.

"I do have a name, Granger," I spit at her, unable to control my frustration.

"Perhaps, the name you speak of is not your real name? Or is Foster your fake name?"

"I have never used that name as my own."

"But you do know the name."

"What's it to you?"

"I know you're hiding things from us, Gerwin."

"Isn't everyone? Yes, I have secrets, but so do you and Ron and Harry and Dumbledore. I may not tell you everything, but what I do tell you is the truth." Almost.

"I highly doubt it."

Everyone watches us in silence. Dumbledore still looks puzzled. Harry is glaring at Hermione. Ron is trying to look indifferent and failing miserably. I give Granger a cold, dangerous glare as I rise from the chair.

"Very well, if you won't listen to me, I'll leave Harry to plead my case. I'm going for a walk." I lean over to whisper in Harry's ear. "Let me know what happens, okay? I trust you." I give him the tiniest of smiles - one that is barely noticeable to anyone but him - and walk quietly from the room. I shut the door behind me and make my way out to the grounds. I make a snap decision once I'm out in the fresh air and head for the Forbidden Forest. I quickly look around to make sure no one sees me before darting off into the trees. Once I'm about a hundred yards in, I slow down to a walk. I let my thoughts wander as my fingers trail over the leaves of ferns and the rough bark of a thousand trees. I hum softly to myself as I walk deeper into the forest. A small breeze whispers in my ear. The symphony that surrounds me plays in perfect harmony with the song that emanates from my lips.

"_Prepare your shoes not to come back soon_

_Prepare your heart not to stop too soon_

_You cannot walk with us..._"

I allow myself to forget my job, my schoolwork, my theories and projects. What does any of it matter anyway? Do I really care about the Death Eaters, the Order, the fall of the Ministry? No, perhaps I don't. I do not care for the death and destruction, the futile disputes over whose blood is purest. But then, if I don't care for those things, do I really care about my father, my mother? That is what they care about - that is their life. If that is true, and I know it is, why do I hold on to them, to their ideals?

"_One step inside doesn't mean you'll understand_

_One step inside doesn't mean I'm yours..._"

Because I love them. I am theirs and they are mine. I can't change what is, only what will be, but I have never wished to be anything other than what I am. Sometimes I wish they didn't think so lightly of murder. Sometimes I wish my father played his part better. Sometimes I wish my mother had left the Death Eaters when my father's body was destroyed sixteen years ago. But then I remember that they wouldn't be the people I love if they were anything but what they are. I may not share their dreams and their beliefs, but I still love these two beautifully cruel people thrown together by a strange passion and desire for power.

"_In your world my feet are out of step_

_And my arms won't move, my hands won't grab_

_I will never read your stupid map_

_So don't call me incomplete_

_You're the freak_"

I suppose that's why I serve my father now, acting as his second-in-command, using a false identity, making plans for murders I wish I could prevent. Maybe my love for my parents and a need for their trust override my fear and hatred of death. And yes, I guess I do have a small thirst for power and control. But the power I want is not the same as what my father wants. No, I need a different kind of control...

The autumn leaves dance around my feet as I reach a clearing. Three paths lead away from it. I close my eyes and listen closely. I open my eyes and take the middle path. I can faintly hear the sound of water in the distance. As I near the distant clearing, the trees part a few feet from a small patch of rock. It juts out like a tiny cliff over a small lake. I sit down on the edge and take off my shoes. I shiver a bit as my toes reach the water, but I am enjoying the soothing feel of the clear, cold lake.

I pull out my wand and point it at the water. Using the levitation spell, I lift some of the water in small waves. I then make it twirl up from the lake in streams to form intricate designs in the air before allowing the water to fall back down and crash upon the surface. I amuse myself for quite some time as I clear my thoughts and try to relax. It's nice to be alone.

Draco's Pov:

The wind blows cold against my skin as a kick off from the ground. It is a good morning for Quidditch. I try to focus during practice and take my mind off of everything else. I focus all my attention on finding the snitch. The morning fog is minimal and the sun is already shining. I catch a glint of gold in the sunlight and race towards it. I soon catch the tiny golden ball and let go of it to repeat the process.

When practice is over, I grab some breakfast and go back to the dorms to change. When I leave again I am met in the dungeon corridor by a large snake with diamond markings. I flinch back at the sight of it, but then I remember whom it belongs to. I quietly curse Leia for using a dangerous reptile over an owl to deliver her letters, but only when the snake has disappeared around the corner. I unfold the parchment and read it as I make my way down the hall.

_Draco,_

_Can we meet some time this weekend? I need some advice._

_- Leia_

_P.S. Sorry about the bruise. I didn't mean it. It's been a bad week._

I laugh quietly to myself. She did leave a nasty bruise on my shoulder when she hit me in Charms yesterday. I massage my shoulder absentmindedly, but cringe as a sudden pain shoots through my arm. I keep forgetting how hard she hit me.

I check my watch. It's 9:15. What to do. I decide to go for a walk around the grounds. But that's too boring...Perhaps the Forbidden Forest might be a nice change. I head out onto the grounds sneak into the forest. I wind through the trees, going deeper into the woods. I don't really care if I get lost. I can always send Leia one of those enchanted letters and have her come find me. I chuckle at the prospect. Leia wouldn't do it willingly. She'd either leave me in the forest or carry me out on her Firebolt and drop me in the lake.

Speaking of lakes...I reach a break in the trees and find myself on the edge of a small lake. I didn't know Hogwarts had more than one lake on its grounds. I look around me and see that it is enclosed completely by the forest. About fifty yards away to my right is a tiny waterfall. Someone is sitting on it; I can hear them singing softly, their voice flowing out across the water in a soothing melody. I walk towards the still figure and see the blonde hair flowing around her shoulders in the breeze, her eyes distant and lost in thought. I sit down beside her and watch her lips form words to a song I don't recognize. I wait until she is finished with the song before getting her attention.

"Hi, Leia." That's all I have to say for her to job back three feet in surprise. She nearly falls over as she glares at and curses me.

"Damn it, Draco Malfoy. Didn't anyone ever teach you not to scare people like that? You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"Oh, Leia, you need to loosen up. You've been such a stick-in-the-mud lately. Maybe you need some stress relief."

"A duel with you would do nicely," she says coldly. She moves back to her original spot and punches me in the shoulder - the one she missed yesterday.

"Ouch! Leia, if you keep hitting me like that I won't have any arms left to duel with." We stare at each other. Then, without warning, she bursts out laughing. I smile and join her, glad to see her relaxed again.

"Feeling better?" I ask when she settles down.

"Yeah," she sighs. "Thanks, Draco, I needed that."

"Any time." I smile and sit next to her. "So, you need some advice?"

"Huh?"

I wave the letter in front of her face.

"Oh, right. I almost forgot I sent that."

"Well, I didn't. Your familiar isn't the most unforgettable character in the world."

"I really thought you'd respond through another letter and actually arrange a meeting. So, did you actually follow me here?"

"No."

"Good to know. At least you're not a stalker."

I laugh, but it doesn't take long before I'm serious again.

"What kind of advice do you need?"

"Draco," she says, "can I confide in you?"

"Sure."

"We're friends, right? I know we've been fighting a lot lately, but we're still friends?"

"Yeah, of course." I smile reassuringly. We most certainly are, even though the bruises on my arms should prove otherwise.

"I'd like to tell you something, but I don't know if I should."

"If you'd rather not, I won't push you."

"You're sweet." She smiles and looks out across the lake. "Can you keep a secret?"

"If it's yours, I will carry it to my grave."

"That's a little dramatic, don't you think?"

"But it's true."

She takes a deep breath.

"You've been the go-between for the Death Eaters and Vivian Foster."

My jaw drops.

"How did you know about that?"

"I know more than that, Draco. You're not the only person sitting here who works for the Dark Lord."

I almost fall over from shock. She's a _Death Eater_?! She doesn't pay attention to my reaction and keeps talking.

"You wouldn't have known that, even if you were closer to the Dark Lord. I have my reasons for keeping a low profile."

"What kind of work do you do for him?"

"My alias is Vivian Foster. That should explain everything."

She looks over at me as I splutter, trying to form a coherent and logical response.

"You're his _second-in-command_?" I allow an amused expression to form on my face. "Wow, I never would have guessed. How did you get _that_ position?"

"I'm important to the Dark Lord."

"In what way?"

"That I don't think I can tell you."

"Aww, Leia, tell me. Come on, I won't say anything." I give her the puppy eyes.

"Draco," she laughs, "I thought you said you weren't going to push."

"I changed my mind."

"Okay," she says after a long pause. She looks as though she is fighting some battle inside herself. "I'll tell you, but only because I need your help and I trust you to keep it a secret."

I wait patiently and quietly, all amusement gone.

"I am," she says and takes another deep breath, "Lord Voldemort's daughter." I am frozen. I can't move, I can't speak, I can barely think straight. So this is the Dark Lord's daughter, the girl kept hidden from the world, the child the Dark Lord wanted no one to know about. Here she is before me, my friend! I smirk.

"I guess being your friend has its advantages then." She punches my arm again. "Ow! Alright, I deserved that."

"Draco, if you can't be serious..." Her voice is threatening. I can see why the Dark Lord would love having her in charge. She can be quite intimidating when she wants to be.

"Okay, I'm sorry." I hold up my hands, surrendering. She relaxes again.

"I need your help."

"With what?"

"Have you heard about the plans for the Ministry?"

"Not in much detail."

"We're planning to assassinate the Minister of Magic. The date is set for the end of the month. Our people are already in place through the Ministry and are ready to act at any time, on my word, of course. Hopefully we won't have to move ahead of schedule, but now that the Order will be alerted to our activities, we may have to speed up the process a bit."

"How did they find out?"

"Potter and his gang. They were spying on me last night, and today he zoned out for a minute and snapped out of it knowing some crucial facts."

I scowl at the water. "What kind of facts?"

"First, they know I - well, Foster actually - is in charge right now. Second, they know my father is abroad and not intending on returning soon. Third, they know we have big plans for the Ministry. The last they have been expecting, but now they know we will act soon. They know we will make our move by the end of the month. Do you think I should give the order prematurely or perhaps delay the fall of the Ministry into November?"

"I think it is best to act before the Order has time to plan or get organized."

"Sooner rather than later, then."

"Precisely."

She stays silent for a time, concentrating.

"I think," she says, "I will give the order tonight. Our people can act tomorrow. That way the Order won't stand a chance, even if they try to intervene."

"Who all knows about it? Of the Death Eaters, I mean."

"Dolohov is in charge. Jugson and Rookwood have joined him, surrounding the Minister. Mulciber, Rosier, Nott, Danforth, and about ten other Death Eaters are stationed within the various Ministry departments, ready to seize control the moment the Minister is to be killed. Only those involved know of our plans. I wanted to keep it as secret as possible. It is dangerous if there is a spy in our ranks."

"My father knows."

"Yes. That is the only way you would have heard about it. He has been passing along the news from Dolohov."

I tense as I remember something my mother told me in a letter she sent last night.

"You threatened my father," I whisper coldly. "You said you'd kill him if he didn't get something for you, something of value to you." She looks over at me, her eyes full of worry.

"Don't misunderstand me, Draco. I didn't mean it. I wouldn't do that to you or your family. But I need to preserve an image. You do realize that?" I nod, but don't say anything. "I only threatened him because I need this job to be done and done right. I can't afford any more mistakes. Even if we take over the Ministry tomorrow, it will still be difficult to steal from the Department of Mysteries. I need cooperation and success. He's already failed in his first attempt."

"If he fails again, what will you do?"

"He won't fail, Draco. I gave him some help."

"What kind of help?"

"An invisibility potion. I invented it myself."

"Clever girl, Leia." I smile. "And thank you. I guess this means I owe you."

"For what?"

"If your father - the Dark Lord - were here, he might disagree with your decision."

"That's true. But you don't owe me anything."

"Are you sure you can't use me?"

She looks thoughtful.

"You'll be sorry you asked, Draco. Yes, I think I can use you. I'm putting you in charge of the murder of Albus Dumbledore."

I stare at her, unable to breathe. Kill Dumbledore? An honor maybe, but extremely dangerous...difficult, too.

"How am I supposed to do that?"

"I'll help you." She smiles, reassuringly. "But we'll have to time it with the assassination of the Minister. I don't want to jeopardize the job at the Ministry, but I don't want to give Dumbledore the chance to defend Hogwarts. We will have to seize control of the school, too."

"Will you still stay here as a student and try to keep up this charade?"

"I'll try. You will have to stay, too. We'll give ourselves good alibis."

"Do think it will work?"

"I hope so, Draco. For our sake I hope so."

We sit again in silence. The sun moves overhead - it is getting close to midday. I try to think of a suitable plan, but come up empty-handed. Being the friend of the Dark Lord's daughter just lost any advantage it might have had. After a long time, a thought occurs to me.

"Leia, can I ask you one last thing?" She glances over at me.

"What's that?"

"If you're a Death Eater, where's your Dark Mark?" I lift my sleeve a little to reveal a skull and snake tattooed on my forearm. She pulls her left sleeve up to reveal the Dark Mark on her shoulder.

"Right here." I stare at it for a moment before responding.

"That explains why you keep messing with your shoulder."

"Yes." She seems preoccupied. And it's no small wonder with everything she is planning. I hope it all goes well. I am not the biggest fan of the Death Eaters, but I would rather this plan succeed than find myself in prison. Besides, I'd rather work for Leia than Potter's side.

"What about Quidditch?"

"Draco, you amaze me. In less than twenty-four hours you are going to commit murder and you're worried about Quidditch?"

I smirk to hide my nervousness.

"So sue me."

She smiles.

"If anything goes wrong for us," she says, "we'll go to my place. We can hide out there and continue working. I'll warn Mother later this evening and she will come, too. But only if it is absolutely necessary."

"Do you think it will be?"

"Honestly, I don't know."

"How are we going to pull this off?"

"Meet me in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom at two o'clock. We'll talk then."

"Is it safe to talk in there?"

"No, but I know a place that is. Just meet me there and I'll show you." She gives me a mischievous grin. "And make sure you're not followed."

"I'll be careful. I doubt we'll run into much trouble. No one suspects anything right now."

"Granger does. She is very close to confirming that I'm a Death Eater."

"Stupid mudblood, always sticking her nose in other people's business. I hate her."

"I'm not particularly fond of her myself, but I tolerate her to stay on Potter's good side."

"I'll see you at two then?"

"At two."

We part at the edge of the forest and casually head off in different directions. She heads for the North side of the castle and I return to the Great Hall for lunch. Then I go to my dorm to get a few things before I meet with Leia.


	18. Chapter 18: Murderous Preparations

**Chapter 18: Murderous Preparations**

Leia's Pov:

I walk slowly back to the dorms. I can't believe I just told Draco everything.

Actually, I can. We're good friends. We have been ever since we started to get to know each other in Charms that second day of classes. Of course Harry and his gang don't know about us. I wouldn't dream of telling them. It feels strange to me, but I am getting close to Harry, too. Whenever I'm around him I get a familiar sensation in my stomach - one of butterflies - but I can only attribute the nerves to liking Harry Potter, which is ridiculous.

But maybe it's not so ridiculous. He's a nice boy, really - good looking and trustworthy. He's loyal also to those he's close to. The only black mark against him is that he's the enemy. Unfortunately, that makes it impossible for me to accept that I feel anything for him.

Back in the Common Room, I see Harry sitting by the fire with Ron and Hermione. They are huddled together, deep in quiet discussion. I go past them without a second glance and walk up the stairs to the room. I steadily go through my things and pull out anything I think Draco and I will need. I pack it all in my satchel and hide the bag under the bed. I walk back downstairs and get a drink of water. I hear someone get up from the couch and I feel a hand on my shoulder.

"Leia, can we talk?" Harry's voice sounds calm. I turn around and search his eyes for a sign of what happened this morning, but come up with nothing.

"Okay, Harry. Where shall we go?"

"Just outside."

"Alright."

We leave Gryffindor Tower and stop outside in the hall in a little alcove off the main corridor. Harry stares down at me, wild emotion in his eyes.

"Leia, Hermione believes us now. Dumbledore was convinced and he talked Hermione out of her suspicions. It was silly for her to think so poorly of you."

"Yeah, silly," I laugh nervously.

"Dumbledore is calling a meeting of the Order tomorrow night. Maybe they can stop whatever Foster is planning for the Ministry. And don't worry." He misreads the troubled expression on my face. "You won't have to be involved. I'm sorry about your friend."

"Don't be. She doesn't deserve your pity." And I mean it. I have turned into my father. No, not yet. When Dumbledore's body is cold and the Minister six feet under I will be like my father.

"IlikeyouLeia," Harry says, his words coming out in a hurry. I smile. I understood him.

"I like you, too, Harry." Wait, did I just say that out loud? I guess it doesn't matter now. He's heard me. Besides, what's the point in lying to myself?

"I'm glad you're in Gryffindor."

I don't say anything. I simply look into his bright green eyes and let myself get lost in them. Harry moves closer, but I take little notice and I am taken by surprise when he closes the final gap between us and presses his warm lips to mine, pulling me close to him in the shadows. I lean into his kiss and close my eyes, forgetting for a long moment who I am and who holds me in his arms.

After several minutes, he leaves me gasping for air as I'm thrown back into harsh reality. Shit, why did he have to go and do that? My stomach is fluttering uncontrollably. My emotions are flying in every direction. I can hear my heartbeat echoing in the quiet corridor. I stare at him with a feeling of betrayal toward him and my father. Harry tries to gage my reaction and becomes worried. I'm not sure whether it is my expression or my silence that makes him nervous.

"I'm sorry, Leia. I shouldn't have done that," he whispers, looking past my shoulder at nothing. I shake my head a little and some of the dizziness disappears. He should be sorry. Shouldn't he? _I _should be upset. I'm not. It was nice, I admit. If he wasn't the enemy...

_What the hell?_ I think, looking into his eyes once more. _I only get one shot at life - I'm not immortal like my parents. And I do like him. Besides, I might be a prisoner or dead tomorrow. No one has to know, right?_ And without hesitating or second-guessing myself again, I reach up and turn his face to me. I lean in and kiss him. He wraps his arms around me. I can feel a small smile on his lips.

By the time we both return to the Common Room, I am feeling light-headed and elated. Harry looks pretty happy himself. Ron and Hermione, holding hands on the couch, stare at us with curiosity. I look at the clock. It's 1:30.

"Harry, I'm going to take a shower and get some sleep," I say, faking a yawn.

"It's the middle of the afternoon," he laughs. "I thought we stopped taking naps in first grade."

"Ha ha," I say sarcastically. I kiss him on the cheek. Hermione's eyes widen. "I'll see you, Harry."

Once I'm out of their sight, I hurry up the stairs and over to my bed. I pull out my satchel and grab my broom from the corner.

_Salazar_, I call. He slides out from under the bed. _Oh, you're a lot closer this time._

_How convenient for you. Is it another letter?_

_No. I need you to sleep in my bed for a few hours._

_That's it?_

_You have to pretend you're me._

_I knew there was a catch._

I sigh and lift him onto the bed.

_I need to put a spell on you_, I explain. _It will make you look like me. It's sort of like taking the Polyjuice Potion, but it's more universal. The only problem is you won't be able to speak English, so you'll have to keep your mouth shut. Just pretend to be sound asleep. If you actually fall asleep, it will be more convincing._

_Okay, I suppose I can do that._

_Thanks. I'll take you to the Chamber of Secrets to hunt sometime._

I say the incantation and lay a few of my hairs over Salazar's body. In moments he is transformed into an exact replica of me. I use a spell to put him in a T-shirt and shorts.

_Remember to lie on your left side. That way the Mark is concealed._

I leave him with that final reminder and another round of 'thank you's before climbing out the window and jumping on my broom. I am careful to fly over the castle where I am less likely to be seen. I quickly find Myrtle's bathroom and open the window. I land on the damp floor where Draco is waiting. Without a word, I walk over to the sink and open the Chamber. Draco's eyes widen.

"Is that what I think it is?" he whispers.

"If you think it's the Chamber of Secrets, then yes. Come on," I motion to him, "follow me." When we are both inside the stairwell, I close the Chamber and light the tip of my wand, leading Draco down to the depths of the castle. "This used to be a tunnel, you know, sort of a giant slide." Draco glances around, staring in awe at the underground stone fortress. "I put in the stairs myself."

"No kidding..." His voice drifts off as we make our way into the main tunnel. He continues to look around at everything, even though there isn't much to see. When we finally reach the huge, round door that opens into the actual Chamber, Draco's jaw drops and his eyes widen as he gazes upon the snakes intertwined on the door.

_Open._

The snakes shift and move. I can hear every noise, every click and shudder, as the door unlocks and opens to reveal a large chamber. The ceiling is high, the walls rounded. The large statue of Slytherin stands at the far end of the hall. Smaller statues border the edges of the chamber. Draco follows me over to one corner of the room where I have set up, from my previous ventures down here, a small couch and a table and chair. I put my satchel down on the couch and Draco throws his stuff with it. I then replicate the chair and we sit down at the table, each of us close to the same corner of the table, the couch behind and between us.

"Shall we?" Draco asks.

"It's now or never," I answer.

I pull out a roll of parchment and lay it out in front of us. It is a map of the school, drawn in black ink and in perfect detail. It shows ever hidden passage, every room, every corridor, and every statue in Hogwarts. I reach into my bag and pull out a quill. I circle Dumbledore's office in blood red ink.

"Okay, Dumbledore is planning to call the Order together tomorrow night, so we'll have to work fast because he may leave at any moment to gather the members. We also have to time it with the Minister's fall."

"So his office will be the ideal place to catch him."

"Exactly. But we'll have to plant ourselves there as early in the morning as possible. That way we can move the first chance we get."

"Perhaps," Draco says, staring up at the statue of Salazar Slytherin, "we can just walk in like we need to talk to him. Then when he's not expecting it, we'll just kill him." He turns to me with a hopeful look. I'm not sure if he really believes it will be that easy, but his optimism helps me relax. I sigh.

"Unfortunately, it's not that simple. Not only does that destroy our alibi, but it's too damn risky." I stare at the map. "We need our alibi to place us at another end of the school, far enough away that we're not suspected, but not so far away that it looks like we did it purposefully or we knew what was going to happen."

"We also don't want that location to make it seem like we're up to anything else. And whatever we do, it can't act as a distraction from the murder."

"Yeah, we have to keep quite."

"But not too quite."

We sit in the almost empty hall, staring at the map and debating the possibilities in our minds. No wonderful ideas are coming to me at the moment. I absentmindedly play with the feather on my quill. As it tickles my nose, I let out a sneeze. It startles Draco out of his own thoughts.

"I hope that sneeze means you've thought of something," he says, a smirk playing on his lips. I sigh and shake my head. "Well, I think I have something." I wait for him to continue, hoping this idea is the one. "What if we were to put together a Quidditch scrimmage between Gryffindor and Slytherin? That way, we're accounted for and we have a verifiable alibi."

"There you go with the Quidditch again," I say, laughing. He looks hurt.

"You don't think it will work?"

"No, I think it's perfect!"

"Then why did you laugh like that?"

"I found it amusing that our obsession is probably going to be what saves us tomorrow. Normally life doesn't work like that."

"I have to agree with you there."

I draw a blue circle around the new Quidditch pitch. Then a thought occurs to me.

"Draco, if we're going to set up this scrimmage, we'll have to do it soon. If you'll excuse me for fifteen minutes or so, I can drop a few hints to Harry and leave him to set everything up for us. Our first official match is against you next week, so I'm sure both teams will buy into a chance to observe the competition."

"I'll vouch for that. Good luck."

"Thanks. I won't be long. Start looking at our options for getting into the office."

I quickly leave the Chamber and listen at the top of the stairs. I don't hear anyone, but I didn't last time...

"_Legilimens!_" I hold my wand up and listen to the thoughts around me. All I can hear is Myrtle. I sigh with relief and leave the underground tunnels. But I don't even reach the bathroom door when I suddenly realize I left Salazar in the dorms. _There were those brooms in the Entrance Hall..._ I casually go down to the Entrance Hall and sneak into the broom closet. I look at the selection. There are several old brooms that don't look as though they couldn't even make it off the ground. I rummage through them and find an old Comet 260 - not my preferred way to travel, but it will do.

I wait until I'm outside and around the corner in a deserted ally before I mount the broom and take off for Gryffindor Tower. I hover outside the window to the Commons, just off to the side so as not to be noticed, and lean forward to peer into the room. No one is there. I go to the window outside the dorm. Only Lavender is there rummaging through her luggage. I go back to the Common Room and land inside. I leave the broom tucked away in a corner.

_Now, where could Harry be?_ I wonder as I exit through the portrait hole. I smile to myself. _There's nothing better than a good old-fashioned mind-reading spell._ I pull out my wand and whisper the words. The faint hiss echoes off the walls. I listen closely. If I can hear his thoughts, he is close...I concentrate, but come up with nothing. I move down a floor and try again. Still nothing. _Perhaps someone knows where he is_. I spot a fourth year down the hall and call out to him. He looks surprised by the acknowledgment. I notice he's a Ravenclaw.

"You there! Yes, you - I need help finding someone."

"Er, okay. Who?"

"Harry Potter. Have you seen him?"

"Yeah, about fifteen minutes ago. He was heading toward the library."

"Great, thanks!" I half-shout to him as I run off down the hall. I only hope Harry's still there.

It only takes me about a minute to get to the library. I stand in the doorway and look around. I don't see him, but he might be around a corner. I search the entire library and eventually find him sitting at a small table with Ron, doing homework from the looks of it. I casually sit down in a chair next to Harry.

"Hi, Harry," I greet him enthusiastically. He smiles.

"Hi. What's up?"

"Not much. I wanted to talk to you about Quidditch."

"Oh, what about it?" he asks, putting down his quill to give the subject his full attention.

"It's about our match against Slytherin this Saturday. Do you think we'll be ready?"

"Of course we'll be ready!" Ron says.

"Even still, is it possible to get a little more practice before then?" I ask, directing the question at Harry again.

"We already have a practice scheduled for Thursday. Do you want me to schedule another one?"

"But I don't mean just a _normal _practice, Harry," I push, trying to get him to suggest what I'm thinking. He has to think it was his idea for this to work. "We've done all of that before."

He thinks for a moment, playing absentmindedly with his quill.

"Harry," Ron pipes up, "do you think we could play a practice match against Slytherin?" Harry hesitates a moment before smiling.

"A scrimmage, huh? That's a good idea, Ron." He turns to me. "What do you think, Leia? Is that more along the lines you were thinking?" I smile.

"Yeah, that'll about do it."

"How about tomorrow? The weekend's probably best," Ron suggests. My face holds only a small smile, but inside I am cheering. This was easier than I thought it was going to be.

"Harry, you should discuss it with the Slytherin captain, and then you need to reserve the pitch," I tell him.

"What time?"

"Eleven?" Ron asks.

"No, too late," Harry replies. "How about seven?"

"Too early," I say, making a face. They both laugh.

"Does eight-thirty work for everyone?"

"Sounds good."

"Perfect."

I make a little bit of casual conversation with them before bidding them farewell. I hurry back to the Chamber, but I don't see Draco.

"Draco," I call out to the spacious hall. "Where is my partner in crime?"

"Don't call me that, Leia. If you don't mind, I'd rather forget that what we're doing is technically illegal," a voice complains from the shadows.

"Fine, I won't, but where are you?" I ask, peering through the darkness in an attempt to see him somewhere. After a few seconds, Draco appears from behind one of the statues, carrying an old and tattered book. I've never seen it before.

"I found this in a secret compartment in that statue," Draco says, holding the book out to me. I take it and sit down with it at the table.

"How did you ever find it there?"

"I was wandering around the room, thinking, and I accidentally bumped something that opened it."

"That sounds like something out of a muggle mystery novel."

Draco makes a face.

"Don't tell me you read that rubbish."

I chuckle at his words.

"No, I don't - not usually. But do not be so quick to call it rubbish. Some muggle novels are quite good."

"You're stranger than I thought."

"Ha! Give me time. I'll get stranger."

He smiles and shakes his head.

"How do you manage it?"

"Manage what, Draco?"

"Everything," he says with a kind of awe and respect I don't feel I deserve. "We're about to commit murder, and yet you can plot and scheme with perfect calm, and you can joke and laugh as though there is nothing else in the world but empty words. Doesn't anything get to you? Doesn't any of it bother you at all? I'm turning into a nervous wreck. Aren't you?"

"No, I'm not," I reply, prepared to give him the most honest answer I've ever given anyone. "Of course it gets to me. I'm still human. I suppose growing up with my father helps a lot. He's so immune to all of it, the killing, the destruction. But keep in mind, I've never killed anyone. When we go through with this, if it works, that will be the first time I've ever killed anyone and I'm assuming it will be for you as well."

I trace my fingers over the map and the directions, lines, and plans we've laid there.

"Right now everything is just...points on a map. Every name is just another one on a list. The names have no meaning, the places have no meaning, the routes, the directions..._everything_ we're doing right now has no meaning, even though parts of it are already in affect. Until we start, this is nothing more than a game, a riddle for us to solve, a strategy for winning. Once we start, yes, I might be a nervous wreck, but until then..."

I look up at him and stare into his eyes, which now hold little of their usual coldness.

"I get through life by trying to remain as calm as possible. When I do that, I am able to keep a cool head and stay focused. Because of that I am able to fulfill any kind of task. After that, yes, I may go through a period where I'll have an emotional breakdown because I have just been through this entire ordeal and not shown a single ounce of emotion for what I've been doing. You've seen the effects of what this job for my father has done to me."

I pause and look away from him again. Staring into his eyes reminded me of the man I had met with only yesterday, the one who shares this boy's eyes.

"Did you know, when I was talking to your father the other night, he referred to me as "my lord"? And when I corrected him and asked him why, he said I reminded him of the Dark Lord. You see, Draco, when I'm in a role, when I have to act in a role, I am able to do it, for the most part, without getting attached to it, without panicking if something isn't going the way I need it to. I can play my part with as much or little feeling as necessary and I don't let anything get to me. That's why I play Quidditch. It helps me let out all of that pent up emotion. I don't know what I would do without it - or without you, for that matter."

When I am finished, we both sit in silence for a time. I stare at the map without really seeing it. I can feel Draco's eyes on me, watching my face, perhaps trying to read something in it that I didn't express aloud. Is this really what we should be doing - killing a man? Two, in my case. Just because my father wishes it? Will it be the end of us? Will we perish tomorrow or find ourselves trapped behind prison bars? At one point I feel his hand on mine, our fingers twisting into each other, holding on to all we have.

_But he isn't all you have_, I remind myself. _You have other people to cling to, as well_. I can see memories appearing before my eyes. The beautiful, laughing face of my vampire mother; the nervous, caring glances of my father's enemy, my secret love; the cold, unfeeling words of the man I call father. _But you do have to finish this_, a voice that sounds a lot like my mother's reminds me, and I know it's true. It's my father's will and if I don't go through with these plans he would be more vulnerable. I cannot do that to my own flesh and blood. Or can I..._No!_ I tell myself firmly. _He's your father. How dare you even think of such a thing._

"Leia? Are you alright?"

I look up at the sound of Draco's voice. I can feel nails digging into my palm and realize my hand has balled into a fist. I quickly release my grip and massage my soar hand.

"Fine, I guess," I answer automatically, but distantly. I wait for my muscles to relax before pushing the map toward Draco. "I think this ought to do it." He stares at me for a long moment, some emotion I can't discern lingering behind his eyes, before looking over the plans I've given him. He nods in approval and folds them up, handing them back to me.

"So we meet behind the statue on the second floor at eight o'clock, and when we've finished we work on our alibi."

"Right," I confirm.

"And you have what we'll need?"

"Everything. You need only your wand and cloak. I need my wand, cloak, and our little bit of help," I say, pulling something out of my pocket to show him. He smirks and it seems his confidence has returned.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then," he says, standing and getting his things together. I do the same and we leave the dark depths of the castle to prepare ourselves for murder.


	19. Chapter 19: Moon And Cloud

**Chapter 19: Moon And Cloud**

Leia's Pov:

I drop my things off at the dorm, careful to hide my satchel under my bed so Hermione can't find it, before I go down to dinner. I spot Ron with his flaming hair far down the table. I walk slowly toward him, hoping against everything that Hermione is not there. But, of course, she is. Harry, however, is not there. I sit down opposite them, but immediately turn my attention to my soup. I pull out a small book from the inside pocket of my robes. Russ, captain of the Royal Renegades, gave it to me after our first championship win. It's all about Quidditch players throughout the centuries who have contributed a great deal to wizarding society. Some invented powerful spells or healing potions; others fought against dark lords and in the goblin wars. Russ thought I would enjoy it seeing as I do some of that myself. His assumption was right. I really do like it.

"Hi, Leia," says a voice I've been waiting to hear since I sat down in the cold presence of Hermione and the indifference of Ron. I look up as Harry sits down and takes a bowl of soup for himself.

"Good evening, Harry. How is everything?"

"Not too bad. The scrimmage has been arranged."

"Have you done anything interesting today?"

"No," he says, a teasing smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I just slept and did homework and...other _stuff_." I stifle a laugh.

"Mine was pretty unproductive, as well." As we make light conversation, my thoughts drift to earlier this afternoon when we stood in that alcove...

"Leia!" I turn around in my seat at the sound of someone calling for me. Isabella is coming towards me, a package in her arms. She hands it to me as she sits down next to me. "Here, this is for you."

"What is it?" I ask, gently peeling back some of the paper.

"A book. I wrapped it to keep it together. It's really old. My grandmother gave it to me years ago. I only read it once, so if you want to you can keep it."

I stop unwrapping it and fold the paper back over the side.

"What's it about?"

"Mythology, ancient folklore, and other similar stories. After that day in the library last month, I asked my mom to send this to me. I thought it might help you with whatever you were looking for."

"Wow, thanks, Bella. Are you sure I should keep it?"

"Go ahead. I don't need it." She smiles and gets up. "I'll see you in class!" Then she's gone, running out into the Entrance Hall where her friends are waiting for her. I put the book down on the seat.

"What was she talking about?" Harry asks, his finger trailing over the paper.

"Oh, nothing." I don't feel like explaining it.

"What class does she have with you?"

"She's in our Defense Against the Dark Arts class, in case you didn't notice, and she's also in Care of Magical Creatures with me."

"She's in our DADA class? I don't think I've ever noticed."

"She sits in the back corner. In that dimly lit room I'm not surprised you've never seen her."

"Have I ever told you how much I love your mom's class?" Harry remarks, pushing his empty bowl away.

"No, I don't think you have."

"She teaches practical defense, something we haven't gotten much of over the years. And as a vampire she can tell us more about some dark creatures and dark magic that we would not know much about otherwise."

"Yeah, having a vampire for a mother has its advantages."

After a few more casual conversations, I excuse myself from the table and go into the Entrance Hall. I suddenly feel a hand pull me gently by my wrist, turning me around to face the boy I just left at the table.

"Come for a walk with me," he says, leading me out onto the grounds. When he's not looking, I enchant the book to apparate back to the dorm room and under my bed. When he questions its absence, I tell him about storing things in the broom closet. He only laughs and takes my hand in his, pulling me toward the lake. The moon shines down on the world, unhindered by clouds or city lights. A fresh cool breeze twists through my hair; the grass dances to the song that rings in the branches of the trees. It's perfect night for a walk and for romance. It's so easy to forget about death and the plans laid by evildoers and their loyal subjects. And with my hand in Harry's, his eyes shining in the moonlight, I can think of nothing else. I am only aware of the moon, the breeze, the grass, and him. Nothing and no one else.

Harry's Pov:

I stop by the edge of the lake and pull her down with me as I sit on the rustling grass. I lean in and kiss her gently on her soft lips. She returns my kisses as I pull her closer. The moon glows softly in the blackened sky, watching us from its window between the stars. He smiles down on us and the stars dance to the rhythm of our hearts beating together in the darkness.

After a time, we break apart slowly. I stare into her eyes, shimmering with starlight and moonlight. No words are spoken, but the silence between us answers for all. There is safety in the shadow of the tree, her hand resting underneath mine, our hearts beating quickly in a rhythm only a talented musician could follow.

She leans closer, falling gently into my embrace. I wrap my arms around her. I sense a fear hovering around her. I don't want her to be afraid. I pull her as close as possible to hide her from the clouds overhead, to protect her from whatever evil may come our way in these dark times. _Perhaps she is the evil_, Hermione's voice warns in my head. I shake the thought of her away. No, this beautiful thing that lies peacefully in my arms is no evil. She isn't part of any darkness that exists in this world.

"Harry, why do you like me so much?" Her question startles me.

"I can't really explain it. And you?"

"Huh?"

"Why do you like me?"

"I can't exactly explain it either, but suddenly I feel as though I never want to be parted from you."

"Then let's be ignorant together. I don't want to leave you either."

"It's strange, isn't it, that we've been joined like this?"

"What do you mean?"

"To be quite honest with you, Harry, when I first met you, you were the last person I thought I'd ever be getting this close to."

Her response doesn't really make sense to me - I'm not sure what she meant by it - but I don't care. What matters most now is having her beside me. _Fool_, a voice whispers in the corner of my mind. _You're getting too close to her. Watch yourself or you will find that Lord Voldemort will take it all away from you. The more you have, the more you have to lose._ I shudder at the thought. Maybe I am getting too close.

"If I were different, would you still like me?"

Why do girls ask questions like this?

"How so?"

"What if I wasn't the girl you thought I was?"

"Leia, I'm afraid I don't really know what you're asking. I like you as you are, right here and now. If there is more to you than you're showing me, I can assure you I will still want you even when you show it to me."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I just am. Now stop the interrogation and relax." I run my fingers through her hair and I can feel the tension disappearing from her body. "Oh, Leia?"

"Yes?"

"Dumbledore said to tell you that Russ stopped by while we were in class the other day." I feel her tense again at the mention of Dumbledore's name, but I don't think much of it.

"Oh, what did he want?" She sounds cheerful again.

"He says the Renegades need you at practice next Saturday. The game's on Sunday, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is."

"I wish Ron and I could come." I let out an exasperated sigh. I haven't been to a professional Quidditch match since the World Cup three years ago. She sits up and grins mischievously.

"You know, as a member of the team, I can get tickets easily. And they won't cost anything."

"Good seats?"

"Of course. We have influence. The Renegades are popular."

"But that doesn't change the fact that Dumbledore won't let me off the grounds." I glower at the sky. Stupid rules, stupid Death Eaters. Leia, however, is not put off by this bit of news.

"Who says he has to know?" There's that look again - wild daring dancing in her eyes and on her lips. "You can always sneak out." A huge grin spreads across my face.

"I knew there was a reason I liked you."

She throws her head back slightly and laughs with true amusement. The atmosphere is filled with her delightful voice.

"I thought you of all people would be the first to think of sneaking out, Harry, with all the trouble you've gotten into over the years."

"It's hereditary."

"Same here."

"Should I use the cloak?"

"Only to get off the grounds. I think for the game, a Polyjuice Potion would be safer."

"I hate that stuff, but I see your point. But," I add, seeing a potential problem, "that would take too long to brew."

"I can have it for you by Wednesday."

"Oh, right," I chuckle, "I forgot I was sitting next to a genius."

"No, just a witch with resources."

I ask her what she means, but she only smiles and says she'll have the potion ready. I ask her if she's going to steal it; she says she won't need to steal it. I ask if she knows someone who uses it; she says she doesn't. She just repeats that she has resources, honest resources, and that the potion will be ready by Wednesday. I give up trying to get it out of her and lay down in the grass, staring up at the stars. She lies down next to me and points up to the sky.

"See that cluster of stars there?" She holds up my hand and points my finger to a group of stars. "That constellation is formed whenever two people from opposite worlds unite underneath the same sky." I tell her I don't understand. She says perhaps I'll know in time.

Draco's Pov:

Firelight flickers across my face as I rest my head on my pillow and stare up at the ceiling. The night wears slowly on. All through dinner my nerves were on edge, but now...now there's nothing more than a dull ache in my stomach. Are we really going to do this tomorrow? I've never killed anyone before. Years ago I used to envision myself in my father's place, the Order members dropping like flies before me, my spells too powerful for them. But now that I reach my chance at this dream, I am afraid - afraid I will mess everything up, afraid I won't be able to complete the task, afraid I won't survive. And if I should disappoint the Dark Lord's daughter? What would she say to me if I could not defend her? If she doesn't need protecting, would it still be shameful to stand only on the sidelines?

"Draco Malfoy, you are a fool to think this will work," I say aloud.

"But it has to work," I remind myself. "Leia knows what she's doing."

_But does she really? She has a plan, yes, but what does that prove?_

"No," I speak aloud again to reinforce the point, "she's his daughter; she's not an idiot. She's not reckless either. She daring, but cautious."

I sit in front of the dying fire and watch the flames dance among the glowing embers and the charred wood. They are few in number, but they survive nonetheless, feeding off each other, clinging together for safety. I take comfort in that fact.

Harry's Pov:

"Do you think they could pull it off, Albus?"

McGonagall's voice causes both Leia and I to jump where we lay. I instinctively pull the Invisibility Cloak out of the pocket of my robes and throw it over Leia and myself. We move quickly and silently to hide by the trunk of the tree. Not twenty seconds later, Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore come walking down to the edge of the lake.

"Yes, Minerva, I believe they could. They have the numbers and the brains to pull it off much more easily than anyone has ever imagined they could."

"When will they strike?"

"That I do not know, but it will be soon. We must send word to all members of the Order. We'll meet tomorrow night. If some cannot get away, have them continue with their duties. We will let them know what is decided."

"Are there people in place to protect the minister?"

"Yes, he has already taken that precaution."

"But he could still be murdered."

"I do not doubt that the cruelty of the Death Eaters could overcome any defense around the minister, no matter how strong it is."

I steal a glance at Leia. She looks nervous. I put my arm around her shoulder and hold her close. McGonagall and Dumbledore continue walking through the castle grounds and are soon out of earshot. I pull Leia to the edge of the forest and take the cloak off.

"They're worried," she says.

"Yeah," I breathe, "and if they're worried, we should be terrified."

"But they don't always see things the way we do," she says, sitting down among the leaves. "What worries them may only be a sliver of doubt to us. The young are always more bold, more reckless, than the old. The old have seen too much; they know too well how the world works. The young, however, cannot know what awaits them at the end of an adventure - they only know they are on one."

We sit in the shadow of the forest for some time in silence. At one point I look over and notice a strange expression come over Leia's face. A fleeting look of surprise and anxiety flits across her face before the pain shoots like fire through the scar on my forehead. I bite my lip to keep from crying out. The searing pain blurs my vision.

The throbbing in my forehead temporarily blinds me. Without any knowledge of how I got there, I find myself lying face down in the dirt and leaves. I start to feel detached from the world around me and I know I am slipping into Voldemort's mind again.

_I stand on the edge of a snow-covered cliff, surveying the tiny town below. The answer to my doubt is down there in that sleeping village; the thing I seek most awaits me. My arms are folded across my chest in a loose embrace meant only to add to the mood. A black cloak billows around me in the harsh cold wind. I can feel the presence of another. But they are not standing next to me, nor are they behind me. They are inside my mind. I have contacted them for one special purpose: I need information._

_"Ah, you have arrived."_

_"How can I help you, My Lord?" The girl's voice sounds strained. I wonder what could be giving her trouble. She's a very capable witch. This position I have given her should not be too difficult for her._

_But then perhaps it is. If so, it may be time for her to change. After all, that's what this job was for – to test her, to test her will, to test her loyalty._

_"This is the place, is it not?" I gesture towards the town. Through my eyes, she can see the place._

_"Yes, My Lord, there you will find the weapon you seek."_

_"And what of the chest?"_

_"We have not yet retrieved it, My Lord."_

_"Why ever not?" Anger flares within me._

_"There were a few slip ups, but do not worry," she replies, her voice strained again, "we'll have it by Friday. I gave them one week to get it. But this time, if they mess up, I won't be so kind."_

_"When you do get it, keep it safe. Hide it at the house if you feel you must, but protect it with any means you know of."_

_"Except human guards."_

_"Only if they're dead."_

_"It will be done."_

_"Good. I'll leave you now to your plans."_

_"Thank you, My Lord."_

Now she is gone and I'm slipping back into my own reality. I sense Leia kneeling down next to me, her arms pulling me into a sitting position.

"Harry, are you all right?"

"Just dizzy, that's all."

"What happened?"

"It's my scar." I instinctively put my hand to my forehead and rub the lighting shaped scar, the remnants of my first encounter with Lord Voldemort. "He's angry again."

Leia's face shines with fear as her eyes widen.

"Who's angry?"

"Voldemort - he needs a chest of some sort and the woman he sent to do it has failed. Or at least the people she sent to do it failed. I think the woman he was talking to may be Foster. It sounded like her."

"Harry, what just happened here? And no bullshit about your scar. I know that isn't all of it."

I heave a huge sigh and decide I can trust her with the secret.

"Voldemort and I have some sort of connection between us. We can break into each other's minds even when we don't mean to, and it is almost impossible to shut the other out. However, it is possible to manipulate what the other person sees..." I trail off, the memory of Sirius, my dead godfather, hunched over in pain on the floor of the Department of Mysteries. Voldemort tricked me then. If I hadn't been so stupid, Grimmald Place might belong to both of us now...

Leia's Pov:

"They're worried," I say, watching the distant shadows of McGonagall and Dumbledore walking away towards the west end of the castle grounds.

"Yeah," Harry whispers, "and if they're worried, we should be terrified."

"But they don't always see things the way we do," I murmur as I sit down, the leaves crunching beneath my robes. I tell him of my thoughts on how this aspect of the world works, of the differences between the young and the old. He nods silently, his hand resting once more on mine.

Then suddenly, without warning, the Dark Mark on my shoulder bursts into life. I have to bite my tongue to keep from crying out. The pain it brings always catches me off guard. I am never prepared for it. Even when I know it's coming, it still surprises me.

I can hear my father calling for me. He wishes to speak to me from where ever he has found himself - somewhere in Eastern Europe. I close my eyes and slip into his thoughts, crossing the many miles between us in a few seconds. I look down, through my father's eyes, on a small village, buried under freshly fallen snow. Winter comes earlier here than it does in England. Lord Voldemort has moved north.

"Ah, you have arrived," he says, sounding quite pleased.

"How can I help you, My Lord?" A certain degree of exhaustion slips into my voice. I hope he doesn't have _another _assignment for me. I don't know how many more jobs I can do for him without going crazy. I need to finish what I've started first; _then _he can order me around all he wants. Well, perhaps I should rephrase that last.

"This is the place, is it not?" he asks, waving his hand vaguely at the village below. I know what he seeks there.

"Yes, My Lord, there you will find the weapon you seek." I can feel him smile with evil triumph.

"And what of the chest?"

I freeze, figuratively speaking, when he asks this.

"We have not yet retrieved it, My Lord," I say slowly, determined to hold my ground no matter how he responds.

"Why ever not?" I can hear clearly the anger in my father's voice.

"There were a few slip ups, but do not worry - we'll have it by Friday. I gave them one week to get it. But this time," I add with a hint of menace, "if they mess up, I won't be so kind." I can sense his muscles relaxing, his demeanor returning to its usual cool, superior state.

"When you do get it," he replies, "keep it safe. Hide it at the house if you feel you must, but protect it with any means you know of."

"Except human guards," I state, rather than ask. I already know his response even before he thinks it.

"Only if they're dead."

"It will be done."

"Good. I'll leave you now to your plans." The ones he told me to carry out while he is gone, the plans I'm putting into action tomorrow.

"Thank you, My Lord." I slip silently and easily from his mind and regain my sense of physical being. I take a deep breath and look over at Harry. Hopefully he didn't notice anything.

But Harry looks shaken. He has that same expression on his face and the perspiration on his forehead that he had earlier in Dumbledore's office.

"Harry, are you all right?" I ask, pulling him into a sitting position and leaning him against a tree. He has dirt on his nose and chin. Did he fall onto his face?

"Just dizzy, that's all," he says, brushing off his pants, failing in his attempt to look nonchalant.

"What happened?" I press, forcing him to look me in the eyes.

"It's my scar," he mumbles, placing his hand over the lightning bolt on his forehead. "He's angry again." _He's _angry..._he_...Who is 'he'?

_I can hear clearly the anger in my father's voice...Harry looks shaken...that same expression...earlier in Dumbledore's office..._

He can't have heard my conversation with Lord Voldemort. It's not possible. Or is it?

"Who's angry?" I ask, more urgently than before.

"Voldemort - he needs a chest of some sort and the woman he sent to do it has failed. Or at least the people she sent to do it failed. I think the woman he was talking to may be Foster. It sounded like her."

Bloody hell, this is the last thing I need right now.

"Harry, what just happened here?" I ask again. "And no bullshit about your scar. I know that isn't all of it."

He sighs heavily before responding.

"Voldemort and I have some sort of connection between us. We can break into each other's minds even when we don't mean to, and it is almost impossible to shut the other out. However, it is possible to manipulate what the other person sees..."

Even though he still hasn't told me what he heard, Harry's vague answer is enough to confirm for me everything he might know. I only hope my father kept his mind as clear as he usually does. At least Harry still believes Foster is another person, instead of just another identity on my growing list: Leia Riddle (daughter of Lord Voldemort), Leia Gerwin (national Quidditch star), and Vivian Foster (the Dark Lord's second-in-command). It's a lot to be responsible for, but I have to deal with everything in turn and have confidence in myself. If I don't, I think - no, I know - I'll go mad.

And speaking of my duties, I need to inform Dolohov that we move tomorrow. Tomorrow the Death Eaters will finally have their day, provided nothing, or next to nothing, goes wrong. I stand up and brush the leaves off my skirt. Harry is soon at my side.

"Are we going back in?" he asks, looking slightly disappointed.

"It's getting late and I have some work to do before I go to bed," I say, smiling at his dejected expression. "You do want me rested for the scrimmage tomorrow, don't you?" He grins.

"Oh, that's right. I almost forgot. Let's get our sleep so we can beat the pants off of those Slytherins tomorrow!" He takes my hand in his and walks with me back through the grounds and up to the Common Room. I say 'goodnight' and start to walk away, but he gently tugs on my hand, which he has yet to release, and pulls me back to him. He kisses me once on the cheek.

"That's for good times." He kisses my other cheek. "That's for good luck." He kisses me lightly on the lips. "And that is for good dreams." I smile up at him and he returns it, holding me in his arms for just a little longer.

"Well," I whisper, "I'll see you bright and early tomorrow."

"See you then."

We part and head our separate ways. I turn around just before the stairs and wave once. He grins and practically bounces up the stairs. I laugh quietly to myself, as I get ready for bed. Everyone else is still out and about. It's only 9:30. Curfew isn't until 10:00. I start to take off the locket that hangs around my neck, but remember that I'm not supposed to let it out of my sight. I have forgotten that fact on multiple occasions since my father gave it to me for safekeeping. I still don't know what's in it.

I pull out my wand, ready to contact Dolohov, but then I remember I still have to talk to Mother. I pull on a set of robes over my pajamas and slip on a pair of shoes. I hurry down to my mother's classroom/office. I don't have long before curfew. Mother's room is dark and empty, but dim candlelight shines out from her office. I walk up the stairs and push open the door. Mother is standing at the only window, looking out at the sky. I close the door behind me.

"Mother?"

She turns around slowly and gives me her warmest and most dazzling smile. She holds out her arms and I wrap my arms around her in a cold hug that is so familiar.

"It's nice of you to drop by. It gets so lonely sometimes in the night with no one awake to talk to."

I smile, but it quickly fades.

"Unfortunately, this is a visit I would rather not have to make."

"What do you mean?" she asks, suddenly concerned.

"Foster, is planning something big for tomorrow."

"That woman your father put in charge when he left?"

"That's her."

"What is she planning?"

"She's going to try to overthrow the Ministry and take over Hogwarts all on the same day."

My mother's eyes widen.

"Is she really? That's pretty bold, not to mention tricky. What made her decide to do _that_, and tomorrow of all days?"

"She meant to do it later in the month with more preparation, but there was a leak of information and she was forced to move the date to the earliest possible moment."

"A leak of information?"

"The Order found out. They don't know _exactly_ what she wants to do, but they are holding a meeting tomorrow night to prepare themselves for anything."

"So Foster wants to act before they have time to respond."

"Precisely."

"And how, might I ask, Leia, do you know all of this?"

I take a deep breath and let it out with my confession.

"I am Vivian Foster."

Mother doesn't say anything. She stares into my eyes for a long moment before sitting down on the settee and motioning for me to join her.

"I should have known your father would do this." She seems almost angry.

"Did he really think it was a good idea to leave me in charge?" I ask, not believing it myself.

"You're a very talented and capable young witch, Leia." She looks me in the eyes again. "Yes, I believe he did think it a good idea. And I can't say I disagree, but for the fact that you're my daughter and I love you enough to not want you involved in any of this." She pauses for a second or two. "He could be testing you," she says softly, contemplating the idea.

"Do his motives really matter?" I ask, putting my head in my hands. "If he's testing me, I hope I succeed. If he has that much faith in my abilities, I hope I do not disappoint him too much. But, to be quite honest with you, I do not care about anything more, at this point, than getting the job over with." I catch a glimpse of Mother's worried expression. "Don't worry about me," I whisper, leaning onto her shoulder, resting my head there. "Draco is going to help me."

"Malfoy's boy?"

"Yes."

"You didn't-"

"Tell him who I really am? Yeah, I did." At the sight of my mother's disapproving glare, I quickly add, "But only when I became desperate for some assistance. We're good friends anyway and I think I can trust him."

"And I trust your judgment. Just be careful tomorrow."

"I will be."

"What will you do if part of your plan fails?"

"It all depends. If we need to, Draco and I will leave Hogwarts. That's why I came to talk to you. I want you to come with us. If we are accused of anything, you will be under suspicion just because you're my mother."

"I'll come if you want me to. Find me if we have to leave in a hurry. I'll try to stay in my room and office all day, just in case."

"Thank you, Mother," I whisper, giving her a kiss on the cheek. I then stand up and go to the door. "I have to talk to Dolohov now, but I'll see you tomorrow, whether all goes well or not."

"Goodnight, Leia."

"'Night."

I hurry back towards the dorms, holding my wand under my robes to my Dark Mark to call for Dolohov. I contact him, using my father's method, and slip into an empty classroom. I close the door so as not to be interrupted and lock it. I force myself into Dolohov's mind and give him my message: _We act tomorrow_. I can feel his excitement and anticipation. _No earlier than nine a.m., but no later than nine-thirty._ He wonders why, but I order him to focus only on _his _role. Without another word, I leave his thoughts and go back to the dorms to get some much needed sleep before tomorrow. I'll need all the strength I can get.


	20. Chapter 20: Then All Went Wrong

**Note from the author: So, I'm really sorry, everyone, that this took so long to get out. I'm afraid college apps. and the fall play (which we perform this coming weekend – scary thought) had to come first. But I hope you enjoy this chapter. And I'll try to be faster next time. I think once the play is over (after this week) it will be easier. Thanks for reading! Hugs, Voldyfanatic**

**Chapter 20: Then All Went Wrong**

Leia's Pov:

_I wander among the empty halls of some forgotten place. Cold wind cries out for a past no mortal can reclaim, its mournful calls echoing in the rafters. My bare feet are like ice as I walk along the moss-ridden stone floor, my toes curling against the chill. There is nothing here but darkness penetrated only by a harsh gray light._

_"Leia..." I hear my name whispered, carried to me on the sobbing wind. I glance around, but there is nothing there - only my shadow. I continue walking until I come to a small, barren door. I reach out to grasp the doorknob, but I stop at the sight of chalk-white stone in the shape of a palm and fingers. I look at my other hand and see it is the same. I put my fingers to my face and finally understand why my feet are so cold. I am a vampire, a hunter in the night, a bloodthirsty creature with no control. Is that why I am here in this empty place? Did I do something wrong? Did I lose control? Did I_ _kill_ _someone?_

_"Leia..." There's my name again. It is emanating from the other side of this door. I shudder - an afterthought of my terrible musings - and turn the dusty knob. I push inward and the door swings open with a horrific creaking noise. I cringe at the sound and slowly, timidly, step over the threshold. Before me is a long, blackened passageway. There is a foul smell here. My gut tells me to turn back and run, but I hold my ground and take several steps forward._

_Suddenly my chest feels heavy as if a great weight is pressing down on me. I close my eyes and concentrate on breathing. Take one gulp of air; let it out. In and out, in and out. Once I have the rhythm down, I move ahead again at the sound of my name. This time it comes out in a sort of hiss...almost like Parseltongue. I strain my eyes to see ahead of me, but there is nothing but blackness to greet me._

_At long last, I make it to the end of the passageway and find a shroud between me and the space on the other side. I pull the silky, ghost-like tapestry aside, finding myself in a small, circular room. A cloaked figure stands opposite the shroud, arms folded, a wand barely visible under the sleeves. They call to me again, but I do not move. I do not trust them. They hold out their hand and I see my father's long, white fingers. I instinctively reach out to touch him, all doubt receding. He asks me to join him. I tell him I will be loyal._

_He smiles and the Mark on my shoulder burns with a fire greater than that of any hell. Then the blood comes. I feel it first before it ever spills upon the floor. I can feel the wound beneath my cloak, the long gash spanning from my shoulder to my stomach. I don't know where it came from, but I can feel my life slipping away with every drop of blood that dyes the stone and moss with every gasp of breath..._

I wake with a start, my palms sweating, my shoulder aching from the vividness of the dream. I still feel cold, but I know I have not changed any since I went to sleep when my fingers brush across the soft, warm skin of my cheeks.

Through the open window I hear Hagrid's rooster cry out, marking the coming of the dawn. The sun is late today, as it has been for a while; the Dementors have thrown the world into shadow and mist. I sit up slowly and drag my feet to the shower. The hot water cleanses me and washes away my fears. If I've said it once, I've said it a hundred times, but I hope this works. There is a lot riding on our plans succeeding today, both here at Hogwarts and at the Ministry. With this plaguing my thoughts, I step out of the shower and change into my Quidditch robes. Quidditch is first - that's what we decided, Draco and I.

As I pass my nightstand to lay my flying gloves and other necessary items out on the bed, a thought occurs to me - an idea, actually, for a poem. I figure now is as good a time as any to write a few of my thoughts. It won't take long and I have time to spare. I search the drawer for the journal I used on the train about a month ago. I have added several entrees since then. Flipping it open to a new page, I pick up a quill from the nightstand and begin to write.

_Follow me to infinity._

_Follow me to infamy._

_Feel death's harsh kiss_

_Upon your brow_

_And float away_

_To monotony._

_The dawn is breaking._

_Your heart is aching._

_Let me stop the pain_

_And the tears._

_Come closer now;_

_You're waking._

_A last look to the sun_

_As it falls and is then gone._

_The breath of wind_

_Upon your cheek_

_Is harsh, yet_

_Somehow numb..._

I put the book and quill down and finish dressing in my Gryffindor game robes and put our little bit of help in the most secure pocket. I stash my wand in the holster designed for it. Finally, I pull my hair back out of my face and pack a change of clothes in my satchel. The dream and the poem are already leaving my mind. They won't bother me now, not when I need bothering least. That's the beauty of written words.

I pick up my Firebolt, step out of the room and take the stairs down to the Common Room. The clock reads eight o'clock. It has begun.

Draco's Pov:

Beep beep. Beep beep. The alarm sounds. I awake with three thoughts lingering from a night of strange dreams: The time has come. This is it. I'm dead.

Now don't misunderstand these words. It's not that I'm afraid to…to…do this…_thing_. It's just that I am terrified of the consequences if we should fail. Leia may be in charge, but she has to get her orders from someone - and that someone has to be the Dark Lord.

I get out of bed, my hands shaking. I try to relax, to remain calm, but it is very difficult. I mustn't look scared or people will think I'm some sort of pansy. Besides, I'm not scared of anything immediate. _Maybe you can block the thought of the Dark Lord's anger from your mind_, I say to myself _If you don't think about him, perhaps he'll go away._

Wait. I didn't just think that. _Yes, you did_, a voice cackles inside my head. _You know you did. And you know you wish it were true._ No, I don't. I swear I don't!

I shake my head several times, but the maniacal laugh still lingers. Without further hesitation I pull on my Quidditch robes and grab my change of clothes, wand, and broom and walk hurriedly up to breakfast. At one point, in the Entrance Hall, I feel as though I'm being watched, but looking around I see no one. Maybe I'm just getting jumpy. I'd believe that.

Leia's Pov:

Breakfast in hand, I move through the grass damp with dew. The edges of my robes sag from the water. An overcast of gray covers the grounds in a frosty blanket, but there is no rain. I wish there was time to talk to Draco before it's time to act, but I know that's impossible with so many witnesses.

"Oh, good morning, Leia." Harry greets me with a cheerful grin and a swift kiss on the cheek. He blushes a little as he backs away, but recovers before I have time to take much notice.

"Are you ready for the game?" he asks, pulling off his glasses to clean them on his robes.

"Most definitely." No sarcasm or feigned emotion there.

We wait patiently for the rest of the team to arrive. While waiting, we talk about trivial things and discuss the scrimmage. As soon as everyone is assembled, Harry gives everyone his pre-game pep talk, something every captain/coach is compelled to do no matter what the circumstances - always the same type of speech, too. Not that I mind them, but after a while you get used to it and a little bored. It's Quidditch. I'm already excited and competitive and ready to kick some Slytherin ass. Ready to send a few bludgers into their stomachs, ready to make them drop like flies, ready to...well, you get the idea. I don't think I need a pep talk, do you? I thought not.

On the pitch we face off against the Slytherin team. Harry and Montague take care of the required handshake, nearly breaking each other's fingers. Good sportsmanship obviously doesn't exist here, at least not between Slytherins and Gryffindors. When they've thoroughly crushed their hands, Harry and Montague step back into the ranks of their team. Hannah Abbot, who came along to watch along with twenty or thirty other students, releases the snitch and the bludgers.

At the sound of the whistle and the release of the quaffle, I kick off hard from the ground and grab hold of the large crimson ball before the others reach it. But in no time two green-and-silver-clad chasers are flanking me as I race off down the pitch. They try several times to steer me into the stands. I look around for backup, trying to avoid the two goons.

"Leia! Beneath you!" Without questioning the speaker's identity, I drop the quaffle and pull up and away from the Slytherins. But before I can get far, something jerks my broom. I turn to see the bigger of the two Slytherin chasers holding tight to my Firebolt.

"Cheating already?" I ask with sugarcoated irritation. "Allow me to demonstrate a better tactic." I flick my wrist and he snatches his hand back as if it's on fire. "Much more subtle," I add, as he glares with dagger eyes. I flash him a smirk before I race off to rejoin Ginny and Helen. I imagine that confrontation is about to be the first of many.

After twenty minutes of the most unethical Quidditch match in history, - one where the Slytherins weren't the only ones cheating - I score another goal and back off to let Ginny and Helen work. I see Draco higher up above the pitch and make for him with all haste. No one seems to notice. Harry is too distracted trying to keep his teammates alive and Draco doesn't really care about finding the snitch at this point it seems. He has spent most of his time attempting to knock Ron off his broom at the goal posts.

"Draco," I half-shout to get his attention. He turns to me.

"You need something?"

"It's ten till nine. I told Dolohov to-" But my sentence is cut off when Draco makes a face and an obscene gesture. My face contorts into one of confusion.

"We're being watched," he explains. "Pretend like this is an argument or fight or something."

"Alright," I say, leaning forward and grabbing on to the handle of his broom. He slips a bit and has to hold on tightly to stay on.

"You don't have to be _that _realistic!" He scrambles to get back on his Nimbus. When he finally manages it, he prompts me to continue. "So you told him what?"

"Oh, I gave him a thirty minute window between nine and nine-thirty. I have a feeling he will choose to act at the earliest possible time."

"Which means you-know-who has to be dead by...when?"

"Nine."

"Then we need to be out of here-"

"Now." I dive away from a fake punch from Draco. "But how do we keep everyone occupied?"

"Leia, I have an idea," Draco says after a moment. "Start a fight. Draw your wand. Threaten me or something."

My eyebrows move together and my eyelids lower.

"Are you sure you want me to?"

"Yes, I am. I think we can get the captains to send us to the locker rooms."

Without a reply, I move quickly to Draco's side. There is no lack of reality in the force with which I grab hold of his robes and jab my wand at his chest.

"Be careful, Malfoy," I say, loud enough for Harry, who is close by, to hear. "You wouldn't want that pretty face of yours to get hurt. Now take it back." The mock malice rings through the air. People have stopped watching the game to stare at the excitement unfolding.

"Why should I? What are you going to do about it?"

"Isn't this wand in your face a good enough hint? Now take it back."

"Leia!" Harry yells my name to get my attention even though he is but four feet from us. "What on earth is going on here?" I glance at Draco out of the corner of my eye and try to think of a response quickly.

"He - insulted my father!"

"But we're still in the middle of the game. Quidditch, remember?"

"Sorry, Harry, but I don't think I'm going to be much use to you at this point. He's gotten me all worked up. I'd just spend the rest of the time thinking of ways to kill him." I flash Draco a menacing glare.

"Then go to the changing room and cool off. I'd rather play a good match tomorrow than attend a funeral." Harry gives a warning glance to Draco before flying off to rejoin the game.

"Well, Draco, I'll meet you outside the pitch. Come as fast as you're able." He nods and I make my decent, heading into the changing rooms to put on my everyday robes and traveling cloak. From outside comes the sound of shouting and argument. I smile to myself. It must be Draco. And sure enough, two minutes later I peek outside and see him sneaking out of the other locker room.

"Draco, quick, over here." I motion to him and pull a small object, attached to a long, thin chain, out of my pocket. With Draco at my side, I throw the chain around both our necks. Draco looks at me, amazed.

"How did you ever get a hold of a Time Turner?" he asks. I smile, but there is no emotion behind it this time.

"One of many strange and wonderful family heirlooms." I stand on the hard ground, poised to turn the instrument, but sudden screams erupting from the castle stop me cold.

"Do you think those screams have anything to do with us?" Draco asks quickly and timidly. His first show of weakness.

"Only one way to find out," I reply, giving the Time Turner several turns. The last thing I see before the magic begins is the shadowy form of a pair of bodies racing toward the Quidditch pitch. Then time starts its reversal.

By the time the sun begins its decent into the east, my heart is beating five times faster. A cliché is fluttering in my stomach. I take off the Time Turner and put it back in my pocket, grabbing Draco by his slightly sweaty hand. We run quickly up the hill, away from the now empty pitch, and sneak into the Entrance Hall.

"Leia," Draco whispers, pulling me into the broom closet I've visited so many times, "someone's coming." He opens the door a crack and peers out. Sure enough I hear footsteps from the dungeon. "Leia," Draco says, keeping his voice low, "it's me! I knew someone was watching me this morning."

"Yeah, you."

He laughs and all tension is gone from his features. But the moment doesn't last long. As soon as his former self disappears into the Great Hall, Draco pulls me into the Entrance Hall. We hurry quietly up the stairs and make it to the second floor, but footsteps in the adjoining corridor force us to take cover again. I peer around the corner and wait for them to come closer. Harry walks past us, but never takes any notice. His whistling echoes in the empty hall. Once he is gone, I turn to Draco.

"What time is it?" I ask. He glances at his watch.

"Eight o'clock."

"Only eight?"

"See for yourself." He pushes his wrist in my direction, but I hold up my hand to stop him.

"I believe you."

"When do we go?"

"Let's wait fifteen minutes. We should probably act around 8:45. That will eliminate the possibility of Dumbledore leaving when the minister is disposed of, and it will give us some lull time to get out of there and to the Quidditch pitch before we're noticed. The game is supposed to be over at 9:30, right?"

"That sounds about right. Scrimmages never take that long."

"We just have to appear again not too long after 9:00 since that was when we used the Time Turner."

We wait in the shadows for time to slowly pass. I sense Draco's agitation next to me as I watch the corridor. I tell him to relax, but I can see he probably won't. It just makes me feel like I'm doing something instead of just waiting around for someone to catch us here.

"Leia, fifteen minutes."

I jump a little, not expecting Draco's voice, but I waste no time in sneaking through the corridors, pulling Draco behind me. When we reach the hall with the entrance to the headmaster's office, I pull out my wand and two small vials. I hand one of them to Draco. We both drink the smoky potion inside and glance around. I can't see him anymore and he shouldn't be able to see me.

"Leia? Did it work? Where are you?" I smile with delight at my own genius. I've never actually used my invisibility potion before.

"Yes, it worked."

"Full dose?"

"Half dose. Now come on." I whisper the password to the statue and it leaps aside. Draco bumps into me trying to get to the staircase, but we manage to get through. "Let's make this easier and safer for both of us," I whisper to him as the stairs take us upward. "Take my hand and follow me. Just take care not to run into anyone or anything."

At the top of the stairs, I creep forward and listen at the door. I hear two voices: one belongs to Dumbledore, the other to an unknown voice.

"Tonight? What is so urgent?" the strange voice asks, the worry in their tone easily discernible.

"The Death Eaters are planning an attack," Dumbledore replies. "They mean to target the Ministry."

"And this comes as a surprise to you?"

"No, but their timing does. None of our spies have seen it coming, but they've been planning for quite some time."

"If our spies didn't know anything about this, how did you come by the information?" Suspicion reigns in the strange man's tone.

"Harry saw it."

"But I thought you were helping him _close_ his mind to that connection, not make it _stronger_." Anger. A powerful emotion - one that makes human minds so weak.

"We tried that, Severus and I, but either Harry is not putting in the effort or Voldemort is getting stronger."

"What if he's learning to control it?" The man sounds as though he has just come to the realization of this likelihood.

"It's possible," Dumbledore says after a pause, "but I think it's unlikely that he has fully grasped the nature of their connection at this point."

A sigh is clearly audible, but it is difficult to tell whom it comes from. I turn my head to send a look Draco's way, but then I remember we can't see each other, so I return to the door. I'm not even sure he's listening.

"Okay, Albus, I'll contact as many Order members as possible and we'll see you tonight at headquarters."

"I'll see you then."

Footsteps approach the door. I pull Draco with me as I back away. I do not recognize the cloaked man as he exits the room, but that is not particularly important at the present time. Draco moves before I do, dragging me quickly and silently through the closing door. We find a table full of instruments to hide behind.

"Draco," I whisper, so low there is no way Dumbledore can hear.

"Yes?"

"Time?"

"Eight-thirty." Fifteen minutes to go. And Dolohov will take care of the Minister at nine. All is going well so far.

But within five minutes a cold dread comes over me. Something isn't right. Something has gone wrong. The Dark Mark burns into my skin and it takes everything I have to keep from crying out. I can feel Draco struggling, too, next to me. I hold tightly to my wand in the pocket of my robes. I give Draco's hand a squeeze for reassurance for both of us.

Then everything goes wrong.

_A quick picture of the next few moments:_

A panicked Slytherin when a Ministry member arrives. The Death Eaters have taken over. The minister is dead.

And all too soon.

The two assassins are no longer invisible. They stand up quickly and draw their wands. Two against two. Hurried orders in disguised voices. Fake names disguising identity. Chance and luck are two important weapons.

"Danforth, take the old man. She's mine." 'Danforth' - synonym for 'Draco'.

A wand is pointed at the headmaster. The woman from the Ministry draws her own. All face off. All goes silent.

Then, suddenly, spells are flying. The assassins do their dance with the woman and the old man, sending out curses as fast as they are able.

"_Stupefy!_"

"Foster, watch out!" 'Foster' - still synonym for 'Leia'.

"_Expelliarmus!_"

"_Protego!_"

"_Crucio!_" The woman's scream pierces the air. But the boy does not stop to watch. He faces the headmaster. Neither has spoken. No spells have been cast between them. All he has to do is say those two words and the old man will drop dead. Just two words. Two...

But he can't bring himself to do it. Several times he tries and every time he fails. The old man taunts him, tries to talk him out of it. Frantic cries sounds from evil's heir.

"Damn it, Danforth, what are you waiting for?" She dodges another spell. "_Avada Kedavra!_" It misses the woman by an inch. "Cast the spell, Danforth! _Crucio!_" The woman drops again, but not for long. All concentration has gone from the young assassin. The woman takes the opportunity to point her wand at the boy. "Danforth, _now_!" He still doesn't move. He's frozen. "DRACO, DO IT NOW!"

"_Stupefy!_"

A scream of rage.

"_Avada Kedavra!_" The woman collapses. The headmaster sends a few spells at the girl. One cuts through her skin. Her shirt is soon soaked with warm, dark blood. In her anger and panic she screams out a new curse. He should die in pain. No peace until death.

"_SECTUMSEMPRA!_" The curse cuts through the headmaster's frail skin. He lies in a heap. The blood spills onto the office floor. He drowns in it. The crimson life force runs thick and dark down the stairs as it seeps into the carpet. The girl collapses as the room swims before her. She regains enough clarity to help her companion. He recovers quickly. The girl's injury does not escape him.

"Leia, you're hurt. Here, let me help you." He rips part of the cold woman's robes and ties a sloppy tourniquet around the wound. "Can you walk?"

"Yes, I'll be fine. But we have to get out of here."

"They'll be coming to see what happened."

"I don't doubt the news was spread as quickly as possible."

"How?"

"The portraits, Draco, the portraits. Use your head for once." Anger - again. Footsteps in a distant corridor. "Draco, run!"

They race from the room, stumbling often, somehow avoiding the frantic professors and students coming to see if what they've heard is true. Many are still in dressing gowns and slippers. The two assassins hurry through the corridors, dodging hoards of people running toward the scene. The girl cannot keep up. Her legs are giving out. The blood-loss is weakening her. Her companion helps her along as they come closer and closer to the Quidditch pitch. They can just barely make out the form of two people disappearing outside the pitch as screams pierce the morning air. The Quidditch players can be heard frantically navigating through the changing rooms to the outside.

"Draco, get to your side. Pretend you just heard the screams."

"I know what to do, Leia. Just try not to pass out."

The players stare at the castle - panicked, frantic, _terrified_. In the distant castle, desperate attempts are made to save the headmaster's life. The wind ceases, the clouds overtake the sun, and the wizarding world watches as the Ministry falls before its eyes and Hogwarts along with it.


	21. Chapter 21: Whispered Words

**Chapter 21: Whispered Words, Spoken Fears**

**Harry's Pov:**

The wind roars past my ears as I dive, my Firebolt taking me closer and closer to the tiny golden ball hovering not six feet above the ground. I reach out and try not to slip off the broom. But just as my fingers close around the snitch, a searing pain shoots through the scar on my forehead – the second time in twenty-four hours – and I black out for a moment. The next thing I am aware of is my body sprawled on the grass, my head pounding, and my left arm aching.

I am also aware of strange sounds coming from far off – the castle, maybe. Everything is hard to discern; I am still disoriented from my fall. People are calling my name, surrounding me, asking if I'm okay. Am I okay? I think so. Yes, I'm fine, but what's going on? Can't I hear it? Isn't it obvious?

Then the noise becomes clearer. The strangling sounds seem closer. The screaming is terrible. Something is wrong. Horror, dread, images of Voldemort and the Dark Mark – all of these things flicker across my mind as I try to run through the crowd of Quidditch players and the locker room. My left arm hangs limp at my side, pain shooting through it every time someone bumps into it, but I don't stop to see what is wrong. There is more wrong inside the castle.

Outside the pitch, the castle, an ominous structure, stands atop the hill. Dark clouds have gathered and the daylight is almost swallowed by the eclipse. Terrified screams are running through the corridors and overflowing to the grounds. What has happened?

Another thought flashes through my mind in the panic and pandemonium. _Where is Leia?_ I search the gathering crowd frantically, desperate for a sign of her. Is she okay? She's only been gone ten minutes, but what if she's back in the castle? The second I catch a glimpse of her I push through the throngs of students to place myself beside her.

"Leia!" I call to her, but she doesn't hear me. "Leia!" I finally manage to get to her side, but her presence does not reassure me. Her eyes are out of focus, her hands are shaking, and her breathing is anything but regular. Could this be terror I'm reading in her face? "Leia, are you alright?" She looks at me vacantly, but she doesn't answer. Before I can utter another word, she falls to the ground. I drop down to my knees and try to shield her from the bodies pressing in on us. But when I try to pick her up to take her somewhere else, someplace safer, I finally realize the exact state of my arm – broken.

"Hey, Potter, are you going to help her or not?" I look up and see Malfoy coming towards us.

"I tried, but it's a little difficult with a broken arm." I pointedly lift up my broken arm with my other hand. Why should he care anyway?

"Then I'll do it." He picks Leia up in his arms with ease. A wave of jealousy washes over me, but I push it aside. Something is terribly wrong and this is no time for petty argument. "Where should we take her?"

"Someplace out of harms way." I look around and see the only safe house I know of. "There." I point toward a tree I've encountered many times before. Malfoy doesn't seem to understand.

"The only thing in that direction is the Whomping Willow."

"Exactly."

He still doesn't know what I'm talking about, but he doesn't need to, not yet.

"Just follow me."

I push through the crowd and Malfoy, carrying Leia's limp form, follows closely. Eventually we break off from the confusion and race toward the Whomping Willow. When I'm sure no one is watching us, I send a spell at one of the knots under the tree and the branches stop swinging immediately. Malfoy barely stops to acknowledge this, however, and hurriedly follows me into the base of the tree. He gently pulls Leia through the narrow tunnel and in no time we've made it to an old house that sits on the edge of Hogsmeade.

"What is this place?" Malfoy wonders aloud as he lifts Leia up onto the dusty bed.

"The Shrieking Shack."

He lowers his eyebrows in suspicion.

"How did you know this passage was here?"

"I've used it before," I answer dismissively. I do not like his presence here.

"What happened?" he asks from the bedside.

"She fainted, you idiot."

"Yeah, Potter, I can see that. And that isn't what I meant. Do you know what happened _in the castle_ to create such pandemonium?"

"No, how could I?"

"We should go back and find out," he suggests – all too seriously it seems to me.

"And leave her alone?" I accuse.

"Of course not. I'll stay with her."

"I don't think so, Malfoy." I don't even try to hide the suspicion and jealousy in my voice.

"You're being a little over-protective for just an acquaintance," he responds, a smirk playing on his lips. I return the look with a glare.

"We're good friends," I explain quickly – a little too quickly.

"Even for a good friend."

"What difference does it make to you?" I snap. He flinches and turns to look at Leia's limp and barely-breathing form.

"You're not the only one who cares about her," he whispers as he faces me again.

"If you two really cared that much," a strained voice whispers from the bed, "you'd be over here helping me instead of fighting over who gets to give the eulogy at my funeral."

We both turn to face the bed faster than if we had spotted the snitch. Leia has barely moved, but her head is lifted slightly. It looks as though that single motion has cost her a great amount of energy. She gives Malfoy a pleading look and forwards it to me before collapsing on the dusty sheets. Why did she look at _him _first? I'm her boyfriend.

_No, you're not_, a voice reminds me. A frown passes over my features with the realization. We have become closer, but I never officially asked her out. I make a note to do so once this is all over. But first, we have to find out what's wrong with her. Malfoy is already bending over her and studying her robes and the bed covers.

"Shit." I move closer at his quiet exclamation.

"What's wrong?" I ask, matching his volume.

"Blood - a pool of it."

"She's hurt? How bad?" I race to her side and instinctively grab hold of her hand in my panic.

"Severe," he confirms, untying some blood-soaked, makeshift bandage that was wrapped around her chest. "Hey, get me something we can use as a bandage. This piece of cloth is worthless." He tosses the thing aside. I hurry to the cabinets and dressers, trying to find a suitable bandage. Rifling through the drawers, I come across a set of linens. I rip one and pass the piece off to Malfoy.

"Here, it's part of a sheet I found in a drawer."

"It's pretty dusty," he observes. "See if you can clean it off a little." I take it and quickly draw my wand.

"_Scourgify!_ That should work."

"Perfect." He binds it around her wound, a wound I never really got a good look at, and pulls off her damp robes. We both stand back and look at each other. We don't say anything, but what would we say? We hate each other, yet somehow we're standing here taking care of the same girl. There is something quite unnatural about this picture.

In the silence, I hear Leia gasp for air. I hurry to her side and attempt to scoop her limp form into my arms, but I cringe from the immediate pain as I am reminded of the state of my arm.

"Something the matter, Potter?" A smirk plays on Malfoy's lips. I reply with a scowl.

"Yeah, Malfoy. My damn arm's broken."

"I could fix it for you."

I stare at him suspiciously.

"First off, I don't trust anyone, aside from Madam Pomfrey, with my broken bones. And second, why would _you_ want to fix my arm?"

"I don't want to, but for her sake I will. I carried her here; you can carry her back. My arms need a rest."

"Oh, not strong enough?"

"I'm strong enough, but dead weight is difficult to carry over long distances. You'll see what I mean."

"Fine, do it quickly." I close my eyes and hold my arm out to my biggest rival, hoping for the best. I'm only trusting him now for Leia's sake, and if he ever brings this up again, I'll kill him.

Within a few moments, Malfoy backs off and I look down to see my arm intact and fully healed – no missing bones, thank Merlin. I hesitate no longer in scooping Leia into my arms.

"Aren't you going to thank me?" Malfoy asks, mockery clear in his tone. I choose to ignore him. There's no way I'm thanking that jackass.

"We have to get her to Madam Pomfrey," I say, making my way toward the secret tunnel.

"Back through the Whomping Willow?" Malfoy inquires in a tone that suggests he has anticipated my actions. I do not respond to his question with a nod, but rather two short, commanding words.

"Let's go."

We go slowly through the tunnel to spare Leia's body from as much further trauma as possible. But when we exit the Whomping Willow, our eyes are met with a strange, ominous sight.

"The crowd has disappeared," Malfoy breathes. The grounds are completely empty. Even the trees are still. There is no sign of life. It is, for lack of a better word, spooky.

"I bet they're all inside," I say, more to make to the hairs on my neck fall down than to state any sort of hunch. I start for the castle and don't check to see if Malfoy is following me. Although, I'm pretty sure he is. He had a look in his eye before that made it clear he was willing to stay with Leia as long as I was. Now, all I want to know is what gives him – a no-good Slytherin – the right to be anywhere near her.

Inside the castle, I can hear the commotion from the Great Hall. Everyone seems to have gathered there. Malfoy opens the door and pushes people out of the way as we make our way towards Professor Gerwin. For some reason Malfoy feels she will know more about this than Madam Pomfrey. I find that hard to believe.

People go quiet as we push through. Their sentences die uncompleted. Their words linger in the air, faint echoes in the massive hall. Professor Gerwin turns around at the disturbance in the atmosphere – those strange vampire senses at work again, no doubt – and immediately spots us through the crowd.

"Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter, what happened? Is she alright?" she questions, running over to us and taking her daughter from me. She moves so quickly that at first I barely notice when she takes Leia and puts her down on the ground. It is the sudden lightness of my arms that clues me in. Professor Gerwin kneels down beside the limp form of her daughter and begins to examine her injury. Students and teachers crowd around to see what has happened. They whisper of things that trouble me. _Dumbledore's in trouble… The Ministry may be, too… Leia might be connected…_ All of these thoughts run through my head with the whispered words as I watch Leia's face for any sign of waking.

**Leia's Pov:**

Everything is dark. My breathing is shallow. The pain seems to have all but disappeared, but I know it will be back. Somehow I know. I feel strange. I can't hear any sound except for my breathing. Did I faint again? I suppose I did. The last thing I remember is lying on a bed in the Shrieking Shack. Draco and Harry were fixing up the gash across my chest. Then it all disappeared.

Now I am floating in a dim light, my senses dulled. I hear voices – whispered words, spoken fears. There is a strange calm in the air that is characteristic of a lull before the pandemonium. But the pandemonium has already begun. So why is everyone suddenly so calm? Where is the lingering confusion, the roaring panic, the racing fear? Do they not know what has happened this dark morning in the wizarding world? I get lost in my thoughts. I remain suspended in the mist of unconsciousness. Then suddenly I shudder from the sudden cold and pain that washes over me, as I'm thrown back into harsh reality. The voices grow in volume.

"Potter, hold her down. I can't do this if she's convulsing." My mother's voice.

"This isn't hurting her, is it?" Harry's voice.

"She's already in pain, you idiot. A little more isn't going to be noticed." Draco – of course. _And for your information, Mr. What-Could-It-Hurt, it is noticed._

My mother's voice sooths me and the pain begins to dissipate as she continues to care for me. What she is doing I do not know, but I am grateful nonetheless.

"Who did this to her?" Mother asks of those around her. I know she has her suspicions – after all, she was told of my plans – but she seems to be hiding it pretty well.

"We don't know," Draco responds. "I was in the changing room when the screaming started. I ran outside with the rest of them."

"We saw her faint soon after that," Harry interjects.

"No one saw what happened?" my mother inquires, getting angry. I wonder whether she is acting or not.

"Death Eaters." The words escape my lips. Exhaustion rings through them. I'm surprised I can speak at all. My eyes are still closed and I still feel disconnected from the world around me.

"Who said that?"

"I think she did, Mr. Potter," my mother answers. She sounds relieved this time.

"Leia? Leia, are you okay? What happened?"

Silence. I can't find the energy to say anything more. But I don't need to. In the distance I can hear renewed commotion.

"It's McGonagall and Snape," I hear Harry whisper.

"They're certainly in a hurry," Draco observes.

"Vanessa," McGonagall calls from a short distance away, "may I have a word with you?"

"Only if we can have it right here, Minerva," Mother calls to her. "I'm a little busy at the moment."

"Oh, goodness me, Vanessa! What happened?" McGonagall's voice is an octave higher now.

"She said it was Death Eaters."

"But what about them? Did she say anything else, Mr. Potter?"

"No, Professor. Just 'Death Eaters'."

"What type of Dark Magic is this?"

"It is terrible magic and beyond my skills," Mother says, sounding defeated and angry. "If we can't find some way of treating this wound, I'm afraid she won't live through the night. I hate to even think of it, but she has lost too much blood. Not much will sustain her now." Mother seems as though she is about to cry. If I had the energy I would cry as well. What kind of spell did the old man use on me? I didn't think he knew such powerful and terrible spells. And that assumption alone makes me a fool. It wasn't supposed to end like this. Did my father even gain anything by it?

"But you're the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher!" Harry exclaims, startling me, even in my weakened state, and probably everyone around us. "You're supposed to know. You're supposed to know how to save her!"

"Mr. Potter! I'm a witch and a vampire, not a miracle worker. If I knew what to do, I would."

Silence fills the air as the room holds its breath. I begin to lose consciousness again, but I force myself to stay alert when I hear Harry's voice again.

"That's it! Professor, you're a vampire. You can change her and keep her alive!"

"No, Mr. Potter." My mother's voice is very firm, full of hatred. "I will not subject her to such an existence. Merlin help me, but I would beg her forgiveness and let her die before I would even consider the possibility of my only daughter living through what I've had to."

Everything is frozen in the stunned silence. I can only hear my shallow breathing in the stillness. I feel Harry kneel down beside me. How do I know it's him? Because only Quidditch robes rustle that way. It's amazing how much one notices when it comes down to the end. But is it the end? I cannot say. I am only aware of the warm breath upon my cheek as Harry sighs.

"Forgive me, Leia," he whispers. I doubt anyone else can hear him. "I wasn't thinking. I never want to hurt you. And even if you can't hear me, I promise you I will be right beside you until you come out of this." I cannot manage to part my lips enough for normal words, but I am able to express my gratitude in whispered Parseltongue.

"Thanks you, Harry. I can't see you, but I can hear you. Thank you."

He gently takes my hand in his, but everything is quickly interrupted. A new voice appears out of nowhere and speaks quickly.

"Minerva, what's going on here? Have you told her yet? We have to send word, although I'm sure the Dark Lord is spreading the news far and wide himself." It's Snape's voice. I'd know it anywhere, now.

"What were you going to tell me, Minerva?"

"Just that-" She stops and continues in a low tone, enough for only a few of us to hear. "Our headmaster is dead and the Death Eaters have taken over the Ministry. We need to get the students settled down so we can inform them of the situation."

It's done then. Father will be pleased. But will he be pleased if I'm dead?

"I'll get them seated. That is, if you don't mind if magic is involved."

"I mind, but go ahead. Just get it done."

"In a moment. Severus, do you recognize this curse?"

"Who did this?"

"She said it was Death Eaters. I haven't been able to identify what exactly they did, nor have I found a means of healing the wound. All I know is the gash goes from here to here and it just barely missed her heart."

"Move, Mr. Potter. I might be able to save her if only…" _If only what?_ But they can't hear my thoughts. The voices trail off, but it must only be me. I slowly slip back into unconsciousness and the world is dark again.

**Draco's Pov:**

I pull Potter away by his robes when Snape kneels down to help Leia. He isn't too thrilled, but his eyes show he understands. Has something happened between those two? Merlin, I hope not. Why should Potter have her instead of me? It wouldn't be right. The Dark Lord's daughter and The-Boy-Who-Lived? Impossible. It would never work. I bet Potter doesn't even know.

"Get her to the hospital wing, Mr. Malfoy," Snape orders. "I performed the counter spell, but she needs attention."

"Yes, sir." I scoop the Dark Lord's heir into my arms and hurry out of the Great Hall. I can feel Potter's piercing gaze on my back the entire way. It seems to take longer than usual to get to the Hospital Wing. Perhaps it's the weight of Leia's unconscious body; perhaps I'm just more aware of the route this dismal morning.

Yes, dismal. By all rights I should be thrilled, proud of what we accomplished. After all, Dumbledore is dead and the Dark Lord has control of the Ministry and, therefore, the wizarding community. But being a Death Eater, even when things go well, isn't as rewarding a feeling these days – at least not for me.

This might be my fault.

Yes. My fault. All of it – the blood, the suspicion surrounding Leia, the unconscious state of my partner in crime. I hesitated; I didn't do the one task she appointed me to do. It figures. I'm finally trusted with something important and I blow it. And on top of it all, I didn't just put my friend in more danger – I put the Dark Lord's daughter in the hospital. Way to go, Malfoy. Fantastic job.

Once in the Hospital Wing, I set her on a bed for the second time today – only this time there are clean sheets and sterile walls. A contrast I don't favor too well. I call for Madam Pomfrey. She comes out from behind the curtain of a bed on the other end of the ward.

"Another fatality, Mr. Malfoy?" she asks, her voice weary and her eyes, too.

"Not yet, Madam Pomfrey. Professor Snape told me to bring her to you."

She walks closer and takes a brief look at Leia's injury. A frown comes over her features.

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. I'll take care of her from here. You better get back to the Great Hall."

I hesitate, but do as she says. I'll sneak back up later.

**Vanessa Gerwin's Pov:**

"_Silencio!_" I move my wand in an arc over the heads of the students. The Great Hall goes silent immediately, although some are still making futile attempts at speech. I walk up to the stairs to the platform where the staff table usually resides and face everyone. With a wave of my wand, the tables and benches move back into place. Students and professors shift to one side or another to avoid getting hit.

"Please," I say, motioning with my hand, "sit down." I take the spell off and whispers race through the room as if a great breeze were blowing in from the chill October morning.

"I don't know what rumors have been flying around or what some of you may have seen or heard, but I am here to tell you why you are all here." I take a deep breath with the intension of hiding my true feelings about the situation through pretend shock and grief. "Our headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, has been murdered, and the Dark Lord's followers have taken over the Ministry." An explosion of renewed pandemonium rips apart the silence. Minerva and Severus join me on the dais. I wait for everyone to quiet down before continuing.

"As you all now realize, we are in need of a headmaster. Since Professor McGonagall is Deputy Headmistress, she will now become Acting Headmistress of Hogwarts. It will be up to her to decide if that is a temporary or permanent assignment. The school will remain open. However, due to the collapse of the Ministry under the Dark Lord's reign of terror, we will not get in the way if your parents wish to take you out of school for safety. Although, we assure you that Hogwarts is still safe enough at the present time."

"Safe?!" someone yells from the back of the hall. "Our headmaster has been murdered and you call that safe?"

"Mr. Downing, I may not know who killed Albus Dumbledore, but I can assure you their thoughts as they fled the grounds betrayed nothing of a plan to take over the school. It seems as though the Dark Lord only wanted Professor Dumbledore dead – for now."

"How do you know what they were thinking?" a young first year pipes up from the Hufflepuff table.

"For those of you who try to sleep through my class, I _am_ a vampire and my specialty is hearing people's thoughts. When we found the headmaster in his office, I immediately listened for the one responsible. I never heard their name, only their orders and their motives."

Whispers dance in the air – worries, fears. Ah, I love the smell of fear and chaos. It is a vampire's favorite smell. It is one we cherish just before we sink our teeth into the flesh and let the blood gather on our tongues.

No. I mustn't think about feeding. I can't afford to slip away right now and thinking about it only makes me hungry. Oh, so hungry.


End file.
